Old England's emblem is the rose;

There is no other flower With half the graces that adorn

This beamy of the bower! And England's daughters are as fair

As any bud that blows! What son of hers that hnth not loved

Some bonny English Rons !

I blush, almost as deep a crimson as " Geant des Batailles, H. P.," when I confess that for a quarter of a century I walked " this goodly frame, the earth," with about as much appreciation of the beauties of Flora as a hippopotamus. If in childhood I had some respect for the Cowslip, it was only in anticipation of its sparkling wine; and no sooner was I promoted to port, than I coldly aliandoned my former friend to its graminivorous synonyme. Pomona was the goddess of my youth: and the sacrifices which I made unto her (upon the altar of our family medicine chest) were great indeed. " O dura puerorum ilia!" it makes me shudder to recall how I cranched those huge green Gooseberries! Mine early manhood brought no change, though oft I gave my guineas for bouquets; and, when there was a show at Chiswick, woro raiment which defied the showers, and laughed expense to scorn. There might have been, so beautiful was my apparel, a special prize for "gent's best primrose kids," and a Banksian medal, as big as a warming pan, for the neatest, glossiest pair of patent morning boots! "Accoutred as I was," have I many a time strolled through those tented gardens, and never (for I will make a clean breast of it) never looked at a flower.

Those Pinks, Carnations, Roses, and Tulips, which require the protection of a bonnet, monopolised my admiring gaze, until I sought for " Heartsease" within my breast, but found, (oh, dash my " Bachelor's Buttons!") nothing but " Love-Lies-Bleeding!" "Have you seen the beautiful Polly.Anthus?" I was asked one day by a friend. " No," I replied, " do point her out; and may I beg you to introduce me?" Of course, he never forgot it, and had great subsequent fun at my expense in Inquiring " if I wislied an introduction to Maty-Gold, or HannaA-Galllls, or Miss-Embryanthe-mum, or Joan-Quil, or Bill-Bergia Thus " sans eyes, sans nose," (floriculturally) did I misspend five-and-twenty years. Then I was converted, and thus, one evening, - *

"T was in the prime of summer time, An evening calm and cool,"

I wandered to my favorite garden chair, with a cigar de la premiere qualite, to digest my din-' ner and the last new novel. There was, I remember in both, a considerable proportion of calfs head: and altogether, having left Oxford, and not being particularly in love at the time, I felt, what the author of the novel aforesaid would term, " triste" and " ennuie," doubtful of the veracity of the poet who wrote about " Home, sweet home," and, like Goldsmith's " Traveller," - "Remote, unfriended, melancholy, flow".

In such a mood, and resting my eyes for a moment from the wearisome trash, so liberally administered to the public at half-a-guinea a volume, something flashed before them, and I saw - A Ross! It glowed with such an intensity of vivid crimson; it shot such sparks of fire from its brilliantly scarlet centre, that I believe it was a special missionary from Flora, and that such a bloom of Rose* " D'Aguesseau, Gallica," was never seen before nor since. Away went the cigar, and the still more weedy novel, and I stooped over the flower with all the love and enthusiasm of a neophyte. Mr. Vincent Crummies could not have felt more admiration when he first saw the future Mrs. C, as "she stood upon her head on the butt-end of a spear, surrounded by blazing fireworks!" • • • • But, seriously, and passing " from gay to grave', from lively to severe," I count that hour among the happiest of my life, for I date therefrom so many of its purest pleasures; and then first I experienced that indescribable but intense feeling of reverential Joy, which the true florist knows when he " looks through nature up to nature's God," and " admiring, cannot but adore." • • • The next evening found me seated as before, but my book was " Rivers on the Rose." S. R. H. - Gard. Chronicle.