92 A BOOK ABOUT ROSES. 



because it is impossible in many cases to exaggerate its 

 worth ; but I alluded at the same time to another indis- 

 pensable addition which must be made to the soil of a 

 Rose-garden, and now I will tell you what it is : I will tell 

 you where I found the Philosopher's Stone in the words of 

 that fable by ^sop, which is, I believe, the first of the 

 series, and which was first taught to me in the French 

 language, — '' Un coq, grattant siir tin fiimier, troiivait par 

 hazard tine pierre precieiise ;'' or, as it is written in our 

 English version, "■ A brisk young cock, in company with 

 two or three pullets, his mistresses, raking upon a dung- 

 hill for something to entertain them with, happened to 

 scratch up a jewel." The little allegory is complete : 

 I was the brisk young cock, my favourite pullet was the 

 Rose, and in a heap of farmyard manure I found a trea- 

 sure. 



Yes, here is the mine of gold and silver, gold medals and 

 silver cups for the grower of prize Roses ; and to all who 

 love them, the best diet for their health and beauty, the 

 most strengthening tonic for their weakness, and the surest 

 medicine for disease. " Dear me ! " exclaims some fastidious 

 reader, "what a nasty brute the man is! He seems quite 

 to. revel in refuse, and to dance on his dunghill with de- 



