lO A BOOK ABOUT ROSES. 



Roses ? We have spared no trouble, no expense, 

 and we do so dote on them !" 



The last time I heard a howl of this kind I 

 felt myself insulted as a lover of the Rose and of 

 truth ; and instead of yelping in concert, as I was 

 expected to do, I snarled surlily: "You have taken 

 no trouble which deserves the name ; and as to 

 expense, permit me to observe that your fifty 

 Rose-trees cost you £4, and your sealskin jacket 

 ^20. You don't deserve beautiful Roses, and you 

 won't have any until you love them more." If I 

 am accused o( discourtesy to the fair sex (she was 

 not very fair, my reader), I can only plead that I 

 have been far more explicit with the male speci- 

 men of pseudo-Rosist. " I say, old fellow," re- 

 marked to me a friend as We rode together in the 

 Row, and with a tone which, though it pretended 

 a cheery indifference, was fraught with rebuke and 

 anger, " those Rose-trees which you recommended 

 me to get, turned out a regular do. Cost a hatful 

 of money — precious near a tenner, if not all out 

 — and, by Jove, sir! our curate at the county 

 flower-show came and licked them all into fits !" 

 "Robert," I responded (I was too indignant to 

 address him with Bob, as usual), " I never in my 

 life recommended a person of your profound ig- 

 norance to have anything to do with Roses. You 



