in acknowledgment of the attentions of that prince during the pope's visit to France, as stated in a letter which he wrote the king. "In accordance with the custom of our ancestors, in carrying a rose of gold in their hands on Dimanche Lætare, we do not think we can present it to one who merits it more than yourself, from your devotion to the Church and to ourselves."

Pope John, in 1415, sent the Golden Rose to the Emperor Sigismund. Martin V., in 1418, sent another to the same prince. PiusII., in 1461, sent one to Thomas Paleologue, emperor of Constantinople. Henry VIII., of England, before his separation from the Church of Rome, received the Golden Rose twice; the first. from Julius II., and the second from Leo X. and recently, in 1842, the Pope's Nuncio Capaccini presented it to Donna Maria, Queen of Portugal.

The public ceremony of blessing the Rose was not instituted until 1366, by Urban V.: that pontiff, wishing to give a particular mark of his esteem to Joanna, Queen of Sicily, solemnly blessed a Golden Rose, which he sent her, and made at the same time a decree, that a similar one should be consecrated every year. For fifty or sixty years, the Pope gave the Rose to princes who came to Rome; and it was the custom to give 500 louis to the officer who carried it for the Pope. The Rose, in its intrinsic value, was however sometimes worth double that sum.

We have thus given all the information we have been able to collect respecting the history of the Rose.

We shall feel abundantly gratified if the facts and anecdotes we have cited, shall tend to enhance the already growing interest in this flower; and by thus connecting it with the lore of antiquity, cast around it a bright halo of pleasant associations.

Among the various riches of the garden, there are many flowers of great attractions: some we admire for their beautiful forms, others for their brilliant colors; and others again for their delightful fragrance and we scarcely know which to pronounce the most pleasing. But whatever may be our feelings of admiration for these beautiful flowers, a desire for something still more

beautiful draws us to the Rose, and compels us to pronounce it superior to all its rivals. It is the Rose alone that never fatigues, that always exhibits some new beauty, and that is never affected by fashion; for while Dahlias and other flowers have had their hour of favor, and have passed out of notice, the Rose has been a favorite for some three thousand years, and is still the first and most beautiful, the chef d'œuvre of the vegetable kingdom.

The Rose is rendered a favorite by many pleasant associations. It has been, as we have shown, the cherished flower of the ancient poets, and it will be shown again, that with modern poets, it has lost none of its charms, but is still apostrophized and made an object of frequent comparison. With the ancients, it was, as we have seen, the ornament of their festivals, their altars, and their tombs it was the emblem of beauty, youth, modesty and innocence, and was full of tender sentiment and pleasant images. A French writer, in a somewhat more extravagant vein of laudation, says, "Its name alone gives birth in all sensible minds to a crowd of pleasant thoughts, while, at the same time, it excites a sensation of the most delightful pleasures, and the most sweet enjoyments." The name of "Queen of Flowers," has been given to the Rose, almost from time immemorial; but this name is particularly applicable to the centifolia and the hybrids from it, among which the Rose figured in this work-La Reine-stands conspicuous. For size, form and brilliant color, it stands indeed the Queen among Roses. But the little, modest wild-rose, found only in woods and hedges, adorns the solitude where it grows, and possesses for many a charm not surpassed by that of any of the cultivated varieties: its regularly formed corolla, of a soft and delicate color, combines in its simplicity many an attraction not found in the most beautiful flowers of the garden; and late in the season, when the fields are stripped of their verdure, the landscape is enlivened by the bright appearance of its red, corallike fruit.

The beauty of the Rose has preserved it and its reputation for many ages. The most populous nations, the largest cities, the most wealthy and powerful kingdoms, have disappeared from the earth,

or have been involved in the revolutions and subversions of empires, while a simple flower has escaped them all, and still remains to tell its story. It has seen a hundred generations succeed each other, and pass away; it has traveled through ages without changing its destiny or losing its character: the homage rendered and the love borne it has been always the same: now, as in the earliest periods of the world's history, it is decreed the first place in the floral kingdom. In these days, as in those of antiquity, it is par excellence, the Queen of flowers, because it is always the most beautiful, and because no other flower can furnish half its charms. To elegance and beauty of form it unites the freshness and brilliance of the most agreeable colors, and, as if nature had showered upon it all her most precious gifts, it adds to its other qualities a delightful perfume, which alone would suffice to entitle it to a distinguished place among the beautiful and pleasant things of the vegetable kingdom.

POETRY OF THE ROSE.

CHAPTER VIII.

"Round every flower there gleams a glory,
Bequeathed by antique song or story;
To each old legends give a name,
And its peculiar charm proclaim.

O'er smiling lawn, through shady grove,
Our dreaming poets pensive rove,
And strive to read their language rare,
And learn the lesson latent there."

OETRY has been defined to be that which suggests to the mind glowing thoughts and pleasant images. We have the poetry of motion, whether displayed in the beautiful and bounding steps of a noble stag, the spirit-stirring course of the Arabs' favorite, or the graceful gait and winning gestures of a beautiful and highly cultivated woman. We have, too, the poetry of form, whether dwelling in the quiet beauty of Trinity spire, leaning against the clear, blue sky, or whether breathing in the many forms of natural beauty around us--the ever-varying expression of an intellectual human face, the rippling course of flowing and shaded waters, the stately oak of the forest, the quivering leaf upon the tree, or the simple flower of the field. Willis discourses eloquently upon unwritten music and the various pleasant tones breathed by Nature into the ear of him whose spirit is attuned to their harmony. So, also, the world is full of unwritten poetry; it is everywhere around us, and always visible to the eye that is accustomed to look for its presence. There is poetry in the dreariness of winter, in the purity of the quiet