SELECTION 129 



I felt on seeing this Rose in full bloom at Angers 

 in 1843. Its flowers were like large golden bells/ 

 So I saw it in May 1880, growing in all its abundant 

 beauty in the gardens of the Riviera ; one plant, 

 for example, which, having climbed to the top of 

 a high chestnut tree, was flowering here, there, 

 and everywhere, amid the branches, in the grounds 

 of the Villa Cessoles, near Nice. Why, then, have 

 I not given it precedence ? Simply because, were 

 such a compliment offered, the Rose would scarcely 

 ever be there to receive it. Because in this climate 

 it is so rarely realised, that I do not remember to 

 have seen it, in perfection, more than three or four 

 times in my life. Puny personifications, and dread- 

 ful imbecilities arrogating the name, I have met 

 with frequently ; but the grand gold goblet, to hold 

 nectar for the gods, is seen but on state occasions 

 — a chalice for the coronation of kings. It is a 

 'shy bloomer,' 'wants a warm wall,' 'good for the 

 conservatory,' they tell us who know it best. And 

 yet (so capricious is beauty) I once saw noble 

 specimens of this flower upon the walls of a cottage 

 five miles from my home ; and the gentleman to 

 whom the cottage belonged was never, I believe, 

 more happy than when he came to dine with me, 

 wearing in his coat a huge bud which he had 



begged from his tenant, and which resembled in 



I 



