192 A BOOK ABOUT ROSES. 



praise : " Your land is the garden of the world ! " 

 The Frenchman, for example, as I can remember 

 him in my boyhood, who had been travelling on 

 the straight, flat, hedgeless, turfless roads of 

 France, in a torpid, torrid, dusty diligence, was in 

 an ecstasy as he sat upon the Dover Mail, and 

 went smoothly and cheerily, ten miles per hour, 

 through the meadows and the orchards, the hop- 

 yards and the gardens of Kent. But nothing- 

 pleased him more than the prettiness of the way- 

 side cottage, clothed with the Honeysuckle, the 

 Jasmine, and the China Rose, and fragrant with 

 Sweet- Brier, Wallflower, Clove, and Stock. 



I may not urge the restoration of this village 

 beauty to the modern Rose-garden, but in the 

 mixed garden and in the shrubbery the constant 

 brave "old Monthly," the last to yield in winter, 

 the first to bloom in spring, is still deserving of a 

 place. He, at all events, is no more a Rosarian 

 who sees no beauty in this Rose, than he is a 

 florist who does not love the meanest flower which 

 grows. Nor must he neglect some other old 

 favorites in this family — such as Cramoisie 

 Superieure, honestly named, glowing and brilliant 

 as any of our crimson Roses, and forming a charm- 

 ing bed, or edging of a bed, especially in the 

 autumn ; and Mrs. Bosanquet, always fair, and 



