THE ROSE AND THE SHOW 



THE roses in the show-tent are bewildering in their 

 beauty. The impression they convey to the eye is 

 after a while as confused as their mingled scent, and 

 the eye, except of the keenest connoisseur, is cloyed 

 with the eternal perfection of form and colour. The 

 one best bloom from each of a thousand plants is 

 there reared with great care, selected and trained 

 somewhat for several days before the contest, so that 

 it could be brought up to the show-bench in the 

 nearest possible pink of condition. They are beauti- 

 ful captives groomed and decked for the slave-market 

 less perfect but more beautiful in the homes from 

 which they have been snatched. Or say that they 

 resemble whole roses as an artist's most successful 

 bust resembles the living man. 



Even in the garden of the rose-lover these exhibi- 

 tion roses are but as busts. They do not swing on 

 the free arch that makes the rose-bush one of the 

 most beautiful objects in nature. They stand on 

 chopped shoots stuck in the bare earth, as though 

 some one had put skewers in the ground and then 

 tied on paper flowers many sizes too large. The 

 roses on the wind-flung arches are beyond the 

 judging capacity of a flower-show, as the arches are 

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