26 A TOtJR ROUND MY GAUDEN, 



rose-tree, the cultivated rose-tree, will wait in vain for the 

 tribute hitherto paid to him ; the sap will no longer ascend 

 to him — it will all be kept for this dear scion; there is- not 

 too much for it. But the gardener has perceived this attempt 

 at rebellion : he has cut off the pretender, and all is restored 

 to order. A few days, however, after this, the rose-tree 

 again appeared to languish; the brilliancy of the monarch 

 was diminished; the foliage looked yellow and faded; and 

 yet the stem of the eglantine was shining and smooth. Seek 

 for the cause. The poor slave is ingenious and obstinate : he' 

 has caused a shoot to glide along under the earth, and only 

 allowed it to see the day at a distance from its parent. Go 

 back two or three steps, and behind that gilly-flower you will 

 see a little rose-bush, growing in shade and silence. It is like 

 what its father was; like him it has flexible branches and 

 narrow leaves. Wait a year, and it will become an eglantine. 

 Rub its leaves, and you will find they exhale a pine-apple 

 odour, peculiar to one species of eglantine. Such was its 

 father when he had branches and leaves of his own. Here 

 it is in bud; here it is in blossom. 



But the despot we left yonder is dead, and died of a 

 horrible death : he died of hunger. The revolted slave who 

 supported him, has, for a length of time, conducted under 

 ground, all his sap to his well-beloved offspring. That 

 beautiful crown of double flowers is withered: he himself, 

 the poor slave, is sick, and will soon die; for he has kept 

 nothing for himself. But he dies free : he dies avenged. He 

 leaves a strong, young, and vigorous offspring upon which the 

 little eglantine blossoms of the woods will burst forth next 

 year. 



Our white rose-tree is not in this situation. The eglantine 

 which bears and nourishes it appears to be resigned to its 

 fate; indeed, we might even say it is proud of its slavery. 

 There are other slaves in the world who have no wish to brealc 

 their chains when they are well gilded. Our eglantine seems 

 to take pride in its beautiful crown. 



But what emerald is that concealed in the heart of that 

 rose? The emerald is living: it is a cetonia;* it is a flat, 

 square insect, with hard wings, like those of a cockchaffer,' 



* Cetonia aurata. — Ed. 



