ae 
FEBRUARY; 89 
“‘ Cauliflowers,” and a few Hollyhocks, and Dabhlias, to back up a 
summer Rose bank. A Rose! there is nothing like a Rose, and among 
Roses there is nothing so perfect and beautiful as Vidot. 
: *¢ Yes, lovely Rose, I find in thee 
That sweetness which no words express ; 
And charms in thy simplicity | 
That dwell not in the pride of dress.” 
Longhorne. 
You may well address her 
** Queen of Beauty, lovely Rose, 
Thy soft and silken leaves disclose ; 
The storm is past, the tempests fly, 
Soft gales break gently through the sky ; 
The silver dew and gentle showers 
Call forth a blooming show of flowers ; 
And now thy beauties all unclose, 
Queen of fragrance, lovely Rose.” 
Smith. 
Garrick has crowned the Rose as the Queen of Flowers, in eulogy, 
which every amateur and non-amateur will not only assent to, but 
repeat with feeling sensibility. 
‘* No flower that blows 
4 Ts like the Rose, 
Or scatters such perfume. 
Upon my breast, 
Ah! gently rest, 
And ever, ever bloom!” 
But, remember, this is poetry. Before you can expect to realise the 
words ‘‘ever, ever bloom,” you must work. ‘‘ Labor omnia vincit.” 
Think of the late lamented Sir Robert Peel’s motto, ‘‘ Industria ;” think 
also of the “‘apes”’ on his venerated escutcheon, denoting, that taught 
by the industry of bees, he was determined to succeed, and signally to 
succeed, in life? What, moreover, was one of the bases of the Duke 
of Wellington’s success in life? It was attention to business. Remem- 
ber, amateurs, what the shopkeeper said, when asked how it was that 
he had succeeded so well. He said that every morning, after prayers 
for God’s blessing, he went into his shop, pulled off his hat, made a 
bow to the counter, and uttered these words, ‘‘ Mr. Shop, I will keep 
you if you will keep me.” 
In conclusion, then, do not mistake aphis for apis. There is an 
aspirate in the former, and also “ Industria.” By the help of a mag- 
nifying glass you will perceive that it ceases not to peck like a hen, or 
woodpecker, or ‘“‘navvy,” with his unwearied pickaxe. Every peck 
from his mandible sucks out the life of your bud. Be you also 
‘«‘ Industrious,” and let him taste the aspirate of your finger and thumb, 
and then wash away his foul offence. Or in vain will it be for you to 
exercise the inert sentimentality.of poetry, in anticipation of some future 
Vidot, in such words as these :— 
‘s Mild be the sun on the sweet blushing flower, 
In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew, 
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal showér 
That steals in the evening each leaf to renew. 
