100 A BOOK ABOUT THE GARDEN. 



the grand Provence, which came to us, as our roses 

 now, from the sunnier clime of France, the herald of 

 a great and splendid army, the evening star, which 

 glitters for a while alone ere all the firmament is 

 thick set with gems. Ah, my brothers, what a 

 sublime astonishment and ecstasy must this rose 

 have caused when it first arrived in our land ! No 

 ambassador, however copper-coloured, no hippo- 

 potamus, however far advanced in gestation, could 

 educe such a sensation now. How the French florists 

 must have shouted in exultation, " magnifique ! " and 

 " tres superbe ! " How the writers and singers of 

 romance must have rejoiced in this fair reality ! 

 How gaily, with this flower in his cap, must the 

 troubadour have touched his guitar ! The brave 

 knight wore it in his helm, the gift of his ladye- 

 love, and while his adversary was gazing with rapt 

 admiration on it, saw his noble opportunity, and 

 stuck a lance into his ribs.* Ah me ! what tender 

 tones, what plaintive heart-music, what hopes and 

 fears have been sighed over this rose of Provence ! 

 Beauty hath made for it a second sunshine with her 

 smiles, and Memory has shed upon its leaves her 

 gentle rain of tears. How often hath this sweet 

 messenger been made to tell unto loving hearts a 

 language which they dared not speak! How often 

 by lily hands have its petals been plucked and 



* Who has not enjoyed the mock tournament in the ring of 

 the circus wherein one of the knights mounted on hobby-horses 

 suddenly exclaims, " Bal-loon, Bal-loon," and as his adversary 

 gazes upwards perforates him with his spear and prostrates him 

 in the sawdust ? 



