POSITION AND SOIL. 73 



there the poor rose-trees stand, or, more ac- 

 curately speaking, wobble, with their leaves, 

 like King Lear's silver locks, rudely blown 

 and drenched by the to-and-fro contending 

 wind and rain. 



" Others, who have been told that the rose 

 loves shelter, peace, repose, have found 'such 

 a dear snug little spot, ' not only surrounded 

 by dense evergreen shrubs, but overshadowed 

 by giant trees. Rest is there assuredly rest 

 for the rose, when its harassed life is past, 

 when it has nothing more for disease to prey 

 upon, no buds for the caterpillar, no foliage 

 for the aphis the rest of a mausoleum ! I 

 was taken not long ago to a cemetery of this 

 description, which had been recently laid 

 out ; and there was a confident expectation of 

 praise in the pretty face of the lady who took 

 me, that I was sorely puzzled how to express 

 my feelings. I wished to be kind, I wished 

 to be truthful ; and the result was some such 

 a dubious compliment as the Sultan paid to 

 the French pianist. The Frenchman, you 

 may remember, was a muscular artist, more 

 remarkable for power than pathos; and he 

 went at the instrument and shook and worried 

 it as a terrier goes in at rats. His exertions 

 were sudorific; and when he finished the 

 struggle, with beads on his brow, the Sultan 



