ON ROSES 305 



Those moments of poignant pathos which come to 

 every human being at times when the path of youth 

 falls away into ever vaguer distance are rendered more 

 acute by the memory of old flowers, parted with re- 

 luctantly, and still loved. There comes a stage of life 

 when it is easier to transfer admiration than affection. 

 The old Roses may be superseded, but they cannot be 

 forgotten. In the warmth and perfume of the summer 

 garden the spell of their successors may be complete, 

 but on those winter evenings when we turn the pages 

 of diaries and sketch-books, or at moments when the 

 pain of a great bereavement is upon us, the power 

 of the old flowers comes back. And the worst thing 

 that we can do in such circumstances is to re-grow 

 them! 



How beautiful some of those old Roses were 

 Dundee Rambler, with the long, slender streamers that 

 it flung from pole to pole, encroaching on the space of 

 its sisters ; Fe'licite'-Perpe'tue, a column of snow against 

 its oaken pillar ; Aime"e Vibert, loose of bloom, but of 

 a most royal prodigality ; Maiden's Blush, tinting a wall 

 that knows it no more, for both wall and Rose, heart 

 and hearth, have gone ; Celine Forestier, with its canary 

 blossoms ; Gloire de Dijon, imperfect in form, but oh ! 

 so free and gay and sweet ! It is the old Roses of 

 pillar, arch, and wall that are so hard to part with. 

 The bedding Roses do not cling so tightly. Perhaps 

 it is that they do not come so near to the home. 



In dipping into the past the Rose-lover sometimes 

 finds that the old Roses are even older than he 

 thought older, far older, than himself; and then he 

 begins to realise how old a plant the Rose really is, 

 and how closely it is entwined in the national life. 

 The name, he is told, comes from the Celtic word 



U 



