260 Landscape Gardening 



that he had 70,000 plants in bloom at once!) This is 

 puzzling enough, even to one that has his eyes wide open, 

 and the sorts in full blaze of beauty before them. What, 

 then, must be the quandary in which the novice, not yet 

 introduced into the aristocracy of roses, whose knowledge 

 only goes up to a "cabbage-rose," or a "maiden's blush," 

 and who has in his hand a long list of some great collector 

 - \vhat, we say, must be his perplexity, when he suddenly 

 finds amidst all the renowned names of old and new world's 

 history, all the aristocrats and republicans, heroes and hero- 

 ines of past and present times - - Napoleon, Prince Ester- 

 hazy, Tippoo Saib, Semiramis, Duchess of Sutherland, 

 Princesse Clementine, with occasionally such touches of 

 sentiment from the French rose-growers, as Souvenir d'un 

 Ami, or Nid d' Amour (nest of love!) etc., etc. In this 

 whirlpool of rank, fashion, and sentiment, the poor novi- 

 tiate rose-hunter is likely enough to be quite wrecked; and 

 instead of looking out for a perfect rose, it is a thousand to 

 one that he finds himself confused amid the names of princes, 

 princesses, and lovely duchesses, a vivid picture of whose 

 charms rises to his imagination as he reads the brief words 

 "pale flesh, wax-like, superb," or "large, perfect form, beau- 

 tiful," or "pale blush, very pretty;" so that it is ten to one 

 that Duchesses, not Roses, are all the while at the bottom 

 of his imagination! 



Now, the only way to help the rose novices out of this 

 difficulty, is for all the initiated to confess their favorites. 

 No doubt it will be a hard task for those who have had 

 butterfly fancies, - - coquetting first with one family and 

 then with another. But we trust these horticultural flirts 

 are rare among the more experienced of our gardening 

 readers, - - persons of sense, who have laid aside such follies, 

 as only becoming to youthful and inexperienced amateurs. 



We have long ago invited our correspondents to send us 

 their "confessions," which, if not as mysterious and fas- 

 cinating as those of Rousseau, would be found far more 

 innocent and wholesome to our readers. Mr. Buist (whose 

 new nursery grounds, near Philadelphia, have, we learn, 



