THE SIX OF SPADES. 101 



scattered in the wild hours of mistrust or jealousy 

 as Guinevere suspecting Lancelot, 



"Brake from the vast oriel-embowering vine 

 Leaf after leaf, and tore, and cast them off." 



Let us ever, my friends, love the Provence rose, not 

 only for its own loveliness and sweetness, not only as 

 the rose par excellence of our boyhood, but as having 

 been for more than two centuries the chief grace and 

 glory of our English gardens, the fair favourite (as 

 the rose will ever be, I trust) in every grade and 

 shire ; what time upon holy altars, in the halls 

 of kings, in the grand gardens of the nobility, among 

 the few flowers of the farmstead and cottage, it found 

 a place and throne. 



Growing near " the Provence " in our garden I 

 remember next a rose, which came to this country 

 together with it, or shortly afterwards, from Holland ; 

 I mean the beautiful Moss ; most beautiful, when, 

 like some sweet infant smiling out of its pretty head- 

 gear of lace, or some young girl blushing to show 

 herself before an admiring world, it first displays its 

 loveliness " i' th' bud." 



Next in favour to the Provence and the moss, 

 the sweet little " Fairy " rose (Rosa Lawrenceana) 

 gladdened my childhood with its tiny loveliness ; and 

 I can see our wax doll, through the powerful telescope 

 of memory, asleep in her miniature crib, with those 

 wee flowerets on her coverlet and pillow. For she 

 was a Royal Princess, you must know, of amazing 

 beauty and of boundless wealth, and rested always on 

 a bed of roses, until she died one day a melancholy 



