CHAPTER XIV 



ROSES 



Sunshine and a little shelter without shade mould the golden key 

 that unlocks the magic gate dividing success from failure. 



IF I were asked to convert the unbeliever to the faith of 

 rose-growing, I would place before him in mid-September 

 a bowl of such fragrant loveliness as is furnished by Phari- 

 saer, Gustav Grunerwald, Mme. Antoine Mari, Mme. Hoste, 

 Betty, Prince de Bulgarie, and Griiss an Teplitz. Possibly 

 his first feeling would be that of surprise, for in these 

 enlightened days of roses and rose-growing there are some 

 still ignorant of the fact that it is possible to gather 

 roses almost as lovely in September as in July. To the 

 gardener, I think, they have even a greater charm. The 

 petals may lack a little lustre, the leaves a little green, 

 yet, bathed in the exquisite dew of a September morning 

 that adds hours to their lives and a fresh beauty to their 

 perfection, the appeal is irresistible. There are still some 

 who grow the old favourites that from long life have 

 acquired a reputation that belies their value. Those 

 who grow for exhibition can scarcely afford to be without 

 a few of the misnamed Hybrid Perpetuals (for they are 

 the reverse of perpetual flowering), such as Ulrich Brunner, 

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