A CHAPTER ON ROSES. 29 



We thought some years ago that we had seen that ultima thule 

 ■'— " a perfect rose." But we were mistaten ! Old associates, 

 familiar names, and long cherished sorts haye their proper hold on 

 our affections ; bufc — ^we are bound to confess it — modem florists 

 have coaxed and teased nature till .she has given them roses more 

 perfect in form, more airy, rich and brilliant in color, and more 

 delicate and exquisite in perfume, than any that our grandfathers 

 knew or dreamed of. And, more than all, they have produced 

 roses — ^in abundance, as large and fragant as June roses-^that 

 blossom all the year round. If this unceasingly renewed perpetuity 

 of charms does not complete the claims of the rose to infinity, as 

 far as any plant can express that quality, then are we no metaphysician. 



There is certainly something instinctive and true in that fa- 

 vorite fancy of the poets — that roses are the type or symbol of 

 female loveliness — 



" Know you not our only 



Rival flowei- — the human! 

 Loveliest weight, on lightest foot — 



Joy-abundant woman," 



sings Leigh Hunt for the roses. And, we will add, it is striking 

 and curious that refined and careful culture has the same effect on 

 the outward conformation of the rose that it has on feminine beauty. 

 The Tea and the Bourbon roses may be taken as an illustration of 

 this. They are the last, and finest product of the most perfect cul- 

 ture of the garden ; and do they not, in their graceful airy forms, 

 their subdued and bewitching odors, and their refined and delicate 

 colors, body forth the most perfect symbol of the most refined and 

 cultivated Imogen or Ophelia that it is possible to conceive ? We 

 claim the entire merit of pointing this out, and leave it for some poet 

 to make himself immortal by ! 



There are odd, crotchety persons among horticulturists, who 

 correspond to old bachelors in society, that are never satisfied to love 

 any thing in particular, because they have really no affections of 

 their own to fix upon any object, and who are always, for instance, 

 excusing their want of devotion to the rose, under the pretence that 

 among so many beautiful varieties it is impossible to choose. 



