CULTURE. 77 



Roses. They were with some difficulty planted, 

 the gravel being loosened witli the pick, and some 

 manure mixed with it. In my annual visits to 

 my friend living in this charming district — for 

 no part of England is more so — I watched with 

 some interest my bridge-roses. They grew with 

 great rapidity, and soon covered every brick, but 

 when they bloomed in large beautiful masses, 

 some disappointment was expressed at the mo- 

 notony of colour. I was prepared for this, and 

 told my friend that they must be decorated. A 

 good-natured incredulous smile met me with 

 ' how ? ' I called the gardener, for this was in 

 July, the budding season, went with him to the 

 rose-garden, and thence took buds of some of the 

 most beautiful of the dark Hybrid Perpetual 

 roses, not forgetting some of the bright rose- 

 coloured tints, such as Colonel de Eougemont, La 

 Eeine, General Simpson, and some others. Our 

 great * Jiorse ' was, I remember, Greneral Jacque- 

 minot. My budding hand liad not forgotten its 

 cunning, for did I not consider myself at twenty 

 as the most dexterous and rapid budder of roses 

 that ever lived and was likely to live ? So I and 

 the gardener proceeded to place buds here and 

 there in shoots favourable for the purpose. The 

 day was warm, and the thorns much sharper than 

 they used to be forty years ago, so I have a misty 

 idea that my friend Jackman the gardener put 

 many more buds in than I did. To use the 



