GARDEN ROSES. 1 69 



seventh summer I oft presided at a '' flower-show" 

 — for thus we designated a few petals of this 

 Provence Rose, or of some other flower placed 

 behind a piece of broken glass, furtively appro- 

 priated when the glazier was at dinner, and cut- 

 ting, not seldom, our small fingers (retribution 

 swift upon the track of crime), which we backed 

 with newspaper turned over the front as a frame 

 or edging, and fastened from the resources of our 

 natural gums. 



And now, can any of my readers appease in- 

 dignation and satisfy curiosity by informing me 

 who first called the Provence Rose *' Old Cab- 

 bage," and why ?* For myself, '' I should as soon 

 have thought of calling an earthquake genteel," as 

 Dr. Maitland remarked, when an old lady near to 

 him during an oratorio declared the Hallelujah 

 Chorus to be "very pretty." It must have been 

 a tailor who substituted the name of his beloved 

 esculent for a word so full-fraught with sweetness, 

 so suggestive of the brave and the beautiful, of 

 romance and poesy, sweet minstrelsy and trumpet- 

 tones. The origin of the title Provence is, I am 

 aware, somewhat obscure. Mr. Rivers thinks that 



* I am, sxib rosd, well aware that (as Miller writes in liis Diction- 

 ary), the Cabbage Rose is so called " because its petals are closely 

 folded over each other like cabbasjes. " 



