280 
THE FLORIST. 
ROSES:—A REVERIE. 
“When the dewy twilight lingers ” is a time, we are told by the poet, 
peculiarly suited to lovers. How far this is correct we are scarcely 
prepared to say; there certainly is a dreamy influence, and something 
perhaps soothing about the hour; but, leaving the poet and the lovers 
to settle the matter in any way they think proper, as we are not disposed 
to argue; and taking our seat at that delightful time beneath the sombre 
branches of a Cedar—on the top twig of which is perched a thrush, 
pouring forth in cadence sweet a “song without words,” far more 
beautiful than Mendelssohn’s—we call to mind those opening buds 
which day by day add new pleasure to our toil, and delight us with 
their novelty. It is true we meet with disappointments; what lover 
does not ? And we confess ourselves captivated by the winning charms 
of Flora’s Queen, for never was “ Love among the Roses ” more com¬ 
pletely lost than we have been. At this balmy hour, as we said before, 
we take our seat beneath the tree, and fall into a reverie. There is 
something very charming in being lost to the world for a time, and letting 
the mind dwell unfettered on our heart’s desire. And first and fore¬ 
most in the train which floats before our fancy like a fairy in a dream 
is that model of perfection, “ the Countessher features cannot be 
surpassed, and the tint upon her cheek most lovely. Who can look 
upon her and not love her ? Her character will bear the strictest 
scrutiny. Mr. Andrews has introduced her to the world and sent her 
portrait far and wide, perfect in outline, but a little less rouge we think 
would have suited her complexion better. A fit companion to the 
Comtesse de Chabrillant, and worthy of her company, is Madame Boll; 
her eye perhaps may be a little prominent, but she is handsome not¬ 
withstanding ; fine in habit, and in figure rather embonpoint , In 
Victor Verdier we trace the Margottin blood, and a very noble race it 
is ; if such is the case, it has something to be proud of, and will no 
doubt be well received at all the courts her floral majesty holds a levee. 
What is that which looks so brilliant in the green foliage around it, and 
shines like a ruby set in emeralds ? It is the “ Senateur,” so exquisite 
in colour, and in form so singularly beautiful. It is painful to say the 
“ General ” is o\5T-generalled ; we have fought so long beneath his 
standard, won such glorious victories; he has so long taken command 
of our box, and unfurled his crimson banner with success, that to 
breathe disparagement now would be to act the traitor’s part, we there¬ 
fore merely add, with all due deference to our hero, that the 
should take precedence of the “ military'' and it is only etiquette that 
General Jacqueminot should stand aside, and allow Senateur Vaisse to 
lead the way. This is doubtless a great Rose era, and should be 
chronicled as such. We have arrived at great perfection, and the last- 
named flower, we think, has gained the highest pinnacle. In our 
imaginary moments we speculate on future possibilities—our rambling 
thoughts have no limit on such occasions—we hope to see another 
Cloth cf Gold with the habit of that glorious Rose from Dijon. We 
do not despair of a Geant free from mildew, or a William Griffiths with 
the complexion of Sir Joseph Paxton. Sir Joseph we think the clearest 
