i 3 4 A WHITE-PAPER GARDEN 



see such an intimate revelation of the divine. 

 Only if rose day had been set apart by Act 

 of Congress it would have been vulgarised by 

 excursion trains and their attendant horrors, 

 and even the opalescent dawn could not have 

 thrown over the blossoms such a veil of 

 mystery and purity as touched them, flowering 

 in the lonely waste. The very heart of the 

 blue summer weather beat softlier there, and 

 it was hard not to believe that their Maker 

 had not paused for an instant in the vast 

 workings of everlasting plans to smile down 

 on the lovely, unheeded things He had 

 made. 



" It is curious when you come to think of it 

 how large a space the rose idea occupies in the 

 world," muses Mrs Wheeler. " It has almost 

 a monopoly of admiration. A mysterious 

 something is in its nature, a fascination, a 

 subtle witchery, a hidden charm other flowers 

 do not possess." It certainly possesses the 

 charm of individuality, since there were never 

 two petals curved with the same grace, and 

 never a leaf but is pointed with a coquetry all 

 its own. Each thorn tells its own wilful tale, 

 and each wind-rifled blossom fallen on the grass 



