JUNE. 
187 
And thou, great Owen Jones, must now confess, 
(Nor shall thy candour make thy credit less, 
Since talents true and genius pure as thine 
Most brightly, when most keenly tested, shine) 
Must own to-day, 0 prince of decorators, 
That never painter’s hand could paint like Natur’s. 
And, surely, here, in this right royal place, 
Which Art and Nature both combine to grace, 
In the calm presence of this gentle queen, 
Peace shall prevail and tranquillize the scene, 
Grim-visaged war shall wear his gala cane, 
And only “ Love among the Roses,” reign. 
Ah, fond delusion! Lo, with hateful grin, 
Mars and Bellona arm in arm walk in! 
Blow, Coldstream trumpets ! beat, ye Coldstream drums ! 
A rival to our royal mistress comes ! 
And thus a herald speaks—0 bumptious Rose, 
You’re not what you conceitedly suppose. 
You may be Queen of Flowers, but not of beauty, 
And England’s daughters deem it now their duty, 
Since you have come so proudly up to town, 
A peg or so to take your highness down ; 
And London city here defiance hurls, 
From fifteen hundred of her prettiest girls ! ” 
He ceased. But while he spake these words of scorn, 
Grief struck the lovers of the Rose forlorn, 
And some sad tears, methought, I saw to fall, 
From handsome Rivers and from earnest Paul,— 
But then uprose, with righteous auger red, 
“Gdant des Batailles,” and, indignant said,— 
“ Ungrateful girls ! to treat the flower that graces 
Your pretty bonnets and your prettier faces, 
That brightens up your boudoirs with its posies, 
And charms with scents your darling little noses, 
With such indignity ! Now is it right, 
Can it be feminine, to want to fight ? 
And, when there should be only love between us, 
To go and challenge Flora, naughty Venus! 
With rosy lips, and damask cheeks, to try 
And cut out your old friend—fie, girls, oh fie! ” 
But no they would’nt “fie,” and on they came, 
In all their lovely wilfulness, to claim 
First prize for beauty; and each damsel glows, 
In all her radiance, to outshine the Rose! 
Who wins the battle ? Reader, go and see, 
Judge for thyself, which power most potent be. 
Ne’er was such warfare, since the world begun, 
Ne’er so much rival beauty, ’neath the sun 
As shall th’ admiring, love-struck world enthrall, 
July the First, and in St. James’s Hall! 
S. R. H. 
A CIRCULAR BED OF HARDY AMERICANS. 
I have a very gratifying bed of this kind opposite my door, 
surrounded by a circular low fancy iron edging. This is again bounded by 
