ROSE GROWING IN OREGON. 185 



roses on this plan, try it, and you can not fail to be pleased with the 

 result. 



Except in the late fall and early winter, I give nearly all my spare 

 time to my roses. Sometimes in the early spring, when everything, 

 including myself, is cold and wet in my garden, I almost feel that it 

 is hardly worth while. But when I get into that state of mind, the 

 reaction takes place as I think of the glories to come. 



I recall some charming evenings of those rare days in June when 

 all my roses are in full bloom. When the sun has set, and the long 

 day is still light, there are times when I seem to see in my garden one 

 of nature's grand symphonies performed by my roses, in which each is 

 a soloist, yet making as a whole a wonderful orchestra, playing in color 

 harmony to the eye instead of in sound harmony to the ear, with not a 

 discord nor a false note, and as though it were conducted by a silent 

 angel, skilled in the divine harmony of heaven. 



And sometimes, as the shadows lengthen and the breeze has almost 

 died away, these roses, in their silent concert, before they close their 

 petals for their night's sleep, seem to play softly, in harmonious colors, 

 a kind of lullaby, more delicate, more exquisite, and as restful as 

 Schumann's "Slumber Song." 



It exalts me to all this. It more than repays me for all my care 

 and hard work to see one of these recitals. And I am content. 



To every one who has a surfeit of folly or of fashion, of hard work, 

 of tired body and brain; to every one world-weary or soul-weary; to 

 every one who would find "surcease of sorrow," I say, Come to Oregon 

 and grow roses with your own labor, just for the love of them, and you 

 will find happiness. 



Portland, Or. 



