” 
UCL £6 Wd 
NEW YC 
BOTANI 
PICTORIAL PRACTICAL ROSE 
GROWING. 
Chapter 1.—An Impressionism, with a Moral. 
Dawn! 
Dawn of a June morning! 
Dawn with the dew trembling on the shy grass, and the birds 
crazy with the passion of life. 
The Copper Beech at the garden gate has abandoned his 
illicit alliance with the night shadows, and toys, hotly amorous, 
with the first rays of the sun. 
The Honey Locust tree facing the hall door shivers slightly, 
and is still. 
Tall Irises in the border, low Violas in the beds, a whole 
gamut of floral voices in the temples of the rockwork, sing a 
welcome. ; 
It is the garden’s hour, for the world is still asleep. It is 
the garden’s moment of womanly triumph, for it has you all its 
own, with no worldly hardness in your eye—the softness of love 
alone there. 
It is the Rose’s hour. The colour in the morning sky is 
heaven’s own imitation of earth’s fairest daughter. At the hour 
of dawn all men start alike. You, I, are level with the greatest 
exhibitor, for the world is not awake to parcel us out; to say of 
this one, ‘‘ He is too fat to know of Roses, we will not listen to 
him” ; of this, “ He is too lean.” 
All who go into the Rose’s arbour before the world awakes 
may woo her as they will. With whispered messages, that none 
but she may hear? itis well. With uplifted voices, the thrill of 
which strikes on other ears? it is still their right. 
It is the Rose’s hour. Our fair lady has caught no tricks of 
the world, and she bids all lovers enter, even if they have never 
trimmed her into the showman’s shape. “Come,” says she, 
“and sing my praises: all praise is sweet.” 
GARDE 
