ARRANGEMENT. I I 5 



In a Rose-garden not subject to any such re- 

 straint — not the drill-ground of our Queen's Body- 

 guard, but the holiday assemblage of her people 

 — no formahsm, no flatness, no monotonous repe- 

 tition should prevail. There should the Rose be 

 seen in all her multiform phases of beauty. There 

 should be beds of Roses, banks of Roses, bowers 

 of Roses, hedges of Roses, edgings of Roses, pil- 

 lars of Roses, arches of Roses, fountains of Roses, 

 baskets of Roses, vistas and alleys of the Rose. 

 Now overhead and now at our feet, there they 

 should creep and climb. New tints, new forms, 

 new perfumes, should meet us at every turn. 

 Here we come upon a bed of seedlings so full of 

 interest and of hope. Here is the sunny spot 

 where we gather, like Virgil's shepherd, the first 

 Rose of spring, or 



" Rosa quo locorum 

 Sera moretur," 



the last of autumn. Art is here as the meek ad- 

 miring handmaid of Nature, gently smoothing 

 her beautiful hair, checking only such growth as 

 would weaken her flowing ringlets, but never 

 daring to disfigure with shams and chignons — 

 with pagodas, I mean, and suchlike tea-garden 

 trumpery. Art is here to obey, but not to 



