l6 A BOOK ABOUT ROSES. 



world of florists kin, which is seen beneath the 

 battered billycock and the hat of shining silk, and 

 which, whether the wearer gets his garments from 

 Poole or pawnbroker, whether he be clad in 

 double-milled or fustian, whether he own a castle 

 or rent an attic, unites all of us, heart and hand. 



•• Who shall judge a man from manners ? 



Who shall know him from his dress ? 

 Paupers may be fit for princes, 



Princes fit for something less. 

 Crumpled shirt and dirty jacket 



May beclothe the golden ore 

 Of the humblest thoughts and feelings — 



What can satin vest do more ?" 



"The Roses were ready : would I go upstairs?" 

 And upstairs, accordingly, with my co-censor, a 

 nurseryman and skilled Rosarian of the neighbor- 

 hood, I mounted, and entered one of those long, 

 narrow rooms in which market-ordinaries are 

 wont to be held, wherein the Odd- Fellows, the 

 Foresters, and the Druids meet in mysterious con-' 

 clave, and where during the race-week and the 

 pleasure-fair there is a sound of the viol and the 

 mazy dance. What a contrast now ! The cham- 

 ber, whose normal purpose was clamor and chorus 

 from crowded men, we found empty, hushed, and 

 still ; the air, on other public occasions hot with 



