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of the East, and the “ Feast of Roses,” have been made fomiliar 
to us by the mention of them in modem works of deserved 
fame. It would not become so true-hearted a lover of our 
own dear land as myself to forget that, while gay France 
entwines her brow with the Fleur-de-lis—Scotland, bonny 
Scotland, with the Thistle—and green Erin, that emerald 
gem on the blue sea’s breast, has her modest Shamrock— 
England wreaths her diadem with the queenly Rose. Would 
that the memory of that emblem were imdimined—that we 
might look upon our Rose and know its fair fame was un¬ 
spotted, its leaves unstained by the blood of England’s children ; 
but the struggles of the factions who bore for badges in civil 
warfare the Red and White Roses, have left an ineffaceable 
blot upon the annals of both realm and flower. Shakspeare 
rather lenghthily records the choice of the Roses on this oc¬ 
casion, but in terms of less beauty than his thoughts are 
usually an'ayed in. 
Herrick, in his “ Parliament of Roses,” ordains that their 
place, and that of the rest of the flowei's, should be Julia’s 
bosom; an invasion of sweets which would be more available 
to the garden portrait of a Ladie faire” (quoted from 
Fletcher), than to any mortal dame of such fair proportions 
as, from her Poet-Lover’s numerous compliments, we must 
imagine the gentle Julia. 
THE PARLIAMENT OF ROSES.-TO JULIA. 
I dream’t the Roses one time went 
To meet and sit in Parliament; 
