At present we have altogether over three hundred 

 roses of all kinds, but we are by no means satisfied; 

 once started on the downward path of rose idolatry 

 there is no limit to one's excesses. I keep on inviting 

 to my«garden new roses to which I've never been 

 formally introduced, thereby making new friends 

 each season. 



I suppose you have noticed that in all these pages 

 I have not mentioned the Crimson Rambler. I hope 

 you hate it as I do. It is the most diseased, bug- 

 infested, shabby, mildewed, common rose in the world. 

 Our one Crimson Rambler has been sent to our " penal 

 colony." 



It's a good scheme to have a penal colony in the 

 garden ; take some miserable spot — not the Sahara 

 desert, but first cousin to it, and there deport flowers 

 which misbehave, cause scandals, are hopelessly dis- 

 eased, or persist in dressing in magenta. It's a soul 

 satisfying way of committing euthanasia. I'm such 

 a floral coward I can't kill a flower outright, but if 

 I put it in the penal colony and it dies — well, I'm 

 not to blame, and the flower is probably happier. At 

 present we have banished to this spot a very snarly 

 rose brought me by a neighbor, some disorderly 

 rockets, magenta hardy phlox, orange day lilies, a 



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