134 THE CANADIAN HORTICULTURIST. 



all the perfections of the parterre, still prefers the scent of the woods, 

 and the air of freedom about the original blossom, and says, 



" Far dearer to me is the wild flower that grows 

 Unseen by the brook where in shadow it flows." 



The Cabbage Eose, that perfect emblem of healthful rural life, is 

 the pride of the cottager; the daily China Rose, which cheats the 

 window of the crowded city of its gloom, is the joy of the daughter of 

 the humblest day laborer; the delicate and odorous Tea, Ro;-e, fated to 

 be admired and to languish in the drawing room or the boudoir, wins 

 its place in the aftections of those of most cultivated and fastidious 

 tastes; while the moss rose unites the admiration of all classes, coming 

 in as it does with its last added charm to complete the circle of perfection. 



Then there is the infinity of associations which float like rich 

 incense about the rose, and that after all bind it most strongly to us, 

 for they represent the accumulated wealth of joys and sorrows which 

 has become so inseparably connected with it in the human heart. 



" What were life without a rose?" 

 seems to many, doubtless, to be a most extravagant apostrophe ; yet if 

 this single flower were to be struck out of existence, what a chasm in 

 the language of the hefirt would be found without it. What would the 

 poets do ? They would find their finest emblem of female loveliness 

 stolen away. Listen, for instance, to old Beaumont and Fletcher : 



" Of all flowers, 

 Methinks a rose is best ; 

 It is the very emblem of a maid ; 

 For when the west wind courts her gently, 

 How modestly she blows and paints the sun [her, 



With her chaste blushes. When the north wind comes near 

 Rude and impatient, then, like chastity, 

 She locks her beauties in her bud again. 

 And leaves him to base briars." 



What would the lovers do ? What tender confessions hitlierto 

 uttered by fair half-open buds and boquets, more eloquent of passion than 

 the Nouvelle Heloise, would have to be stammered forth in miserable 

 clumsy "vv^ords; how many doleful suits would be lost; how many bashful 

 hearts would never venture ; how many rash and reckless adventurers 

 would be shipwrecked, if the tender and expressive language of the 

 rose were all suddenly lost and blotted out. "Wliat could we place In 

 the hands of childhood to mirror back its innocent expression so truly ? 



