THE history of the Queen of 

 Flowers goes back to far-away 

 times and to distant lands; it 

 is woven in with the loves and lives 

 of many peoples, yet it comes down 

 the highways of Time with never a 

 voice raised except in praise. 



Born in the East, the rose is a child 

 of the sun. It has, nevertheless, gar- 

 landed the whole world, even to the 

 regions of snow and ice, where the 

 Esquimaux during their brief summer 

 tend and gather it to deck their per- 

 sons and their homes. In Iceland, so 

 says M. Boitard, where vegetation is 

 scanty in the extreme, a pale cup-like 

 rose is found, as dear to its possessors 

 as the hundred-leaved flower with 

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