160 The Rose Garden. 



may appear tedious, but to those who love flowers there is an interest felt in the 

 simplest operations of culture ; for he who plants a tree adopts it as his own, appoints 

 himself its protector, and delights in administering to its wants. Every act of labour 

 bestowed increases his attachment to it, and every stage of progress offers beauties 

 to his sight. As he wanders in the Rosarium, and sees the plants covered with 

 flower-buds, what agreeable anticipations does he indulge in, heightened, perhaps, 

 by the occasional recognition of a flower blossoming before its time. Every succeed- 

 ing walk shows him an increase in the number, till at last he beholds them flushed 

 with blossoms, yielding a rich harvest for the labour he has bestowed. 



Well they reward the toil. The sight is pleased, 

 The scent regaled. ..... 



Each opening blossom freely breathes abroad 

 Its gratitude, and thanks him with its sweets. 



What a delightful month is June for the lover of Roses ; and what time is equal 

 to the morning for inspecting the flowers ? What floricultural enjoyment can surpass 

 that afforded by a walk in the Rosarium at grey dawn, when 



The lamps of heaven grow dim, and jocund day 

 Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain's top ? 



Then the White Roses first show, and how inexpressibly pure they seem in the 

 twilight ! The deeper tints, the blush, the pink, the rose, follow in rapid succes- 

 sion ; and as darkness flies away the crimson and the blacker hues rise in rich 

 effulgence to complete the picture. How beautiful the foliage appears glistening with 

 dew ! The flowers, too, are rife with freshness and beauty. Is there not life in every 

 fold ? And what a delicious odour is borne on the surrounding air ! As we gaze and 

 admire, there is little to disturb our meditations ; the warblings of the feathered 

 choristers alone break in upon the slumbering scene. Here is the consummation of 

 our hopes in Rose-culture. And what a recompense for the toil we have sustained ! 

 Do we not feel as we admire, that 



" Nature never did betray 

 The heart that lov'd her : 'tis her privilege, 

 Through all the years of this our life, to lead 

 From joy to joy." 



Next to the morning's walk in the Rosarium a ramble at eventide is, perhaps, the 

 most delightful. The colours of many kinds have the same fervid glow ; the same 

 perfumes scent the air, but (alas, that the life of our favourites should be so fleeting !) 

 instead of the young and promising beauties of the morning we gaze on Roses of 

 mature age. 



But these are not all the sweets attendant on the cultivation of flowers. As the 

 amateur scans the beauties which surround him, when satiated if indeed satiety can 

 be experienced here with the sight, the reflections awakened by association in flori- 



