145 



CHAPTER Xlll. 



ROSES UNDER GLASS. 



" O lovely Rose ! to thee I sing ! 



T/iou s'iveetcst, fairest child of spring \ " 



— Anacreon. 



To the ardent Rosarian the winter months g"0 all 

 too slow ; the last Rose of summer has scarcely passed 

 away when he busies himself with the making of pre- 

 parations for the production of Roses under glass. 



Roses in winter ! Why not? Aye, and plenty of 

 them ! Go to London, the hub of the world, and 

 listen to the flower sellers offering their gems to a 

 bustling crowd, midst frost and snow — * Rosees ! 

 Rosees ! Tuppence a piece Rosees ! There you 

 are, loidy, a penny ! " Pass by the florists' shops, 

 and they are full of flowers, and of Roses, blooms in 

 variety. Where do they all come from? '* Covent 

 Garden, Sir! " I know, but what nursery? Well, 

 good reader, to tell the truth, there is hardly a British 

 Rose nursery to-day that does not force Roses for i 

 the winter flower market. But Roses from France \ 

 compete largely with the production of our own *' 

 growers, and these, owing to climatic conditions, come i 

 first in quantity upon the market. It is truly wonder- | 

 ful this control of the seasons, but it is as old as any ; 

 art practised by the gardener ; and although science 

 has improved and has given us greenhouses and up- 

 to-date heating appliances, yet Roses were raised in \ 

 Rome in the winter months as far back as the reign *. 

 of the Emperor Domitian. I 



The flower girls of Rome, famous in history for 

 their beauty, could be heard calling to the passer-by 

 in exactly the same way as ours do to-day ; and, good 5 

 reader, Roses were not dear ! Martial, the epigram- "i 



