88 



A BOOK ABOUT ROSES 



impudence, but they thought of the close wrestle, — 

 they reflected on the ' hug/ and left him. To drop 

 metaphor, there is no more valuable manure; but it 

 is, from circumstances which require no explana- 

 tion, more suitable for the farm than the garden, 

 especially as we have a substitute, quite as effica- 

 cious, and far more convenient and agreeable in 

 use. 



No, not ^ burnt earth.' I spoke as earnestly as I 

 could of the value of that application in my last 

 chapter, because it is impossible in many cases to 

 exaggerate its worth ; but I alluded at the same time 

 to another indispensable addition which must be 

 made to the soil of a Rose-garden, and now I will 

 tell you what it is : I will tell you where I found the 

 Philosopher's Stone in the words of that fable by 

 ^sop, which is, I think, the first of the series, and 

 which was first taught to me in the French language, 

 — ' Un coq^grattant sur un fttmier, trouvait par hazard 

 une pierre pricieuse ; ' or, as it is written in our English 

 version, ' a brisk young cock, in company with two or 

 three pullets, his mistresses, raking upon a dunghill 

 for something to entertain them with, happened to 

 scratch up a jewel.' The little allegory is complete: 

 I was the brisk young cock, my favourite pullet was 

 the Rose, and in a heap of farmyard manure I found 

 th^ treasure. 



