A. Chapter on Roses 2o7 



ing in as it does with its last added charm, to complete the 

 circle of perfection. 



Again, there is the infinity of associations which float like 

 rich incense about the rose, and that, after all, bind it most 

 strongly to us; for they represent the accumulated wealth 

 of joys and sorrows, which has become so inseparably con- 

 nected with it in the human heart. 



"What were life without a rose!" 



seems to many, doubtless, to be a most extravagant apos- 

 trophe; yet, if this single flower were to be struck out of 

 existence, what a chasm in the language of the heart would 

 be found without it! What would the poets do? They 

 would find their finest emblem of female loveliness stolen 

 away. Listen, for instance, to old Beaumont and Fletcher: 



-"Of all flowers, 

 Methinks a Rose is best; 

 It is the very emblem of a maid; 

 For when the west wind courts her gently, 

 How modestly she blows and paints the sun 

 With her chaste blushes! When the north wind comes near her, 

 Rude and impatient, then, like chastity, 

 She locks her beauties in her bud again, 

 And leaves him to base briars." 



What would the lovers do? What tender confessions, hith- 

 erto uttered by fair half-open buds and bouquets, more elo- 

 quent of passion than the Nouvelle Heloise, would have to 

 be stammered forth in miserable clumsy words! How many 

 doubtful suits would be lost - - how many bashful hearts 

 would never venture - - how many rash and reckless adven- 

 turers would be shipwrecked, if the tender and expressive 

 language of the rose were all suddenly lost and blotted out! 

 What could we place in the hands of childhood to mirror 

 back its innocent expression so truly? What blossoms could 

 bloom on the breast of the youthful beauty so typical of the 

 infinity of hope and sweet thoughts, that lie folded up in her 

 own heart, as fair young rose-buds? What wreath could 

 so lovingly encircle the head of the fair young bride as that 



