148 FROM A MIDDLESEX GARDEN 



The rose is essentially the flower of flowers, the one flower of 

 the year. Almost every one knows their many different names 

 and their separate charms : La France, arrayed in silvery rose ; 

 the brilliant crimson of General Jacqueminot, with its ex- 

 quisite odour ; the salmon-fawn of Gloire de Dijon ; the deep 

 orange-gold of William Allen Richardson, and the like, to be 

 found in almost every garden. A brief history of this flower 

 will be found elsewhere, and the following are a few of the 

 many superstitions surrounding it. The Greek myth is that 

 the red rose was metamorphosed from white by the blood of 

 Venus when she trod on its thorns while hastening to aid the 

 dying Narcissus. The Turks say that the red rose is coloured 

 with the blood of Mahommed, and they will never let one 

 die upon the ground. In certain districts of Italy red roses 

 are considered an omen of early death, and it is an evil omen 

 to scatter their leaves upon the ground. "To smell the 

 savour of red roses is good and wholesome for the brain, but 

 the smell of a white rose is ill," says an old book of the 

 fifteenth century ; and elsewhere it is written, " To smell 

 a red rose is good, but to smell a white rose is evil ; " and 

 it is a noticeable fact that the essential oil of red roses is 

 astringent and tonic, while that of white roses is lowering 

 and laxative. In Germany, if a white rose blossoms in 

 autumn, it is said to denote an early death of a member 

 of the household ; if a red rose, a speedy marriage. The 

 Persians hold that upon a certain day of the year the 

 rose has a golden heart, and fortunate indeed will be the 

 discoverer. A legend runs that the thorn-crown of Christ 

 was made from the briar rose, and that the drops of blood 

 which fell from His brow bloomed into roses. The origin 

 of the blush imparted to the rose is beautifully expressed 

 by Carey 



