Chapter VII (7)

The destination of this flood of knowledge and strength forms not the least interesting phase of this subject. From the data before us, we find that the State of New York retains about forty-four per cent; the Western States receive over twenty five; the Middle States, eleven; the New England States, eight; the Pacific slope, two, and the Southern States a little less than two per cent, the residue being scattered among various portions of the continent outside of our jurisdiction. The comparatively small number who have sought homes in the South may be accounted for partly by the occurrence of our late civil war, but principally by the peculiar organization of labor in that section before the abolition of slavery. In [the] future we may expect a much greater percentage of people, particularly from Southern Europe, to assist in developing the almost inexhaustible wealth of such states as Georgia and Tennessee. It is to be regretted that no record has been kept of the nationalities and occupations of those who so instinctively choose their favorite sections of our country; but our own everyday experience, and the laws of labor and climate, enable us to form a sufficiently accurate general opinion. Irishmen, though not adverse to agricultural pursuits, generally prefer large cities and towns, like those of New England, where skilled labor is least required in the production of fabrics. The Germans, on the contrary, though quite numerous in New York, Philadelphia, and St. Louis, avoid New England, and prefer farming in the Western States, in some of which they already form a majority of the rural population. Englishmen are to be met with either in the Eastern factories or in the Atlantic cities, keeping up a business connection with their countrymen at home. Frenchmen find a market for their superior mechanical skill amid the luxury of large cities, and are seldom tillers of the soil, while a Welsh miner (if he do[es] not find his way to Salt Lake) goes as naturally to Pennsylvania, and the slate quarries of New York and Vermont, as the Swede and Norwegian do to the northern parts of Michigan and Wisconsin. The mode of emigration may have something to do with these selections. The continental nations, particularly the Germans, understand migration better than their insular neighbors, always leaving home in families and groups, and settling down in small colonies where, as in all new countries, union is strength; but the inhabitants of Ireland and the other islands of the United Kingdom too frequently emigrate, one member of a family at a time, without system or organization, to the great disruption of those ties of relationship which are always a bond of unity and a source of comfort, amid the hardships attendant on great changes of habitation.

Considering the various manners, habits, and opinions of so many nationalities, some of them, if not repugnant, at least strange to the native-born of America, the power of absorption possessed by the people of the United States is astonishing. Columbia, taking to her ample bosom the fiery Celt and the phlegmatic Teuton, the self-asserting Briton and the _débonnaire_ Gaul, smiles complacently at their peculiarities, or, remembering the good qualities which underlie such eccentricities, waits patiently for time and example to cure them; and we venture to assert that the German feels himself as free to indulge in his national games and festivals in New York or Buffalo as if he were in Vienna or Berlin, and the Irishman can dance as lively and attend a wake or a wedding with as light a heart, and as free from hindrance as if he had never left his own green isle. {403} In justice, also, to the immigrant, it must be said that, once settled in America, he gives to its government his hearty and unqualified allegiance, notwithstanding the occasional spasmodic attempts of a despicable few to subject him to ridicule and social ostracism. How many instances do we find of worthy men who, having gained a competency here, acting upon that natural and beautiful love of native land, return to the homes of their childhood to end their days, but who almost invariably return to us and the scenes of their manhood's toils and triumphs!

There are two other sources of accession to our population, independent of that of acquisition of territory, which are worthy of notice. The first, of present importance, is the passage of our borders by natives of Lower Canada, and which, though now more than usually remarkable, has been going on quietly but steadily for at least a hundred years. [Footnote 119]

[Footnote 119: Five hundred French Canadians took passage at
Montreal, C. E., for the United States, in one week, during
March, 1869.]

The French Canadians are a decidedly _unique_ people. Originally from Normandy, early deprived of the protection of France, and practically cut off from their fellow-countrymen by the cessation of emigration, they have still retained all the primitive simplicity, keenness, and hardiness of their ancestors. Increasing in numbers with extraordinary rapidity, they have tenaciously adhered to their faith, language, and manners of life, in face of the opposition of a dominant and intolerant master. They have not only, so far, held their own against English laws and customs; but, despite the increase of British colonists among them, they have nearly, if not altogether, kept pace in numbers with the English-speaking inhabitants of the two Canadas. They have likewise constantly shot forth numerous hardy offshoots which have taken root and flourished in the far west. Detroit, La Salle, Dubuque, St. Louis, St. Paul, Sault Ste. Marie, and many other western centres of wealth and population, were first selected and settled by those enterprising followers of Jacques Cartier and the missionary fathers, and their names are still honored in those places. Many of the later immigrants from Canada find employment in our seaboard cities, but the majority either still seek the northwest, as being more congenial in climate, and offering more opportunities for that spirit of adventure which distinguishes the race, or go directly to California, where so many of the French people have already settled.

The Chinese immigration to the Pacific coast is one of the most unaccountable events in the history of that section of our country, and one which may well attract serious public attention. Those people, remarkable for centuries for their ingenuity and industry, as well as for their exclusiveness and dislike to foreigners, have at last crossed the Rubicon that confined them within the limits of the Celestial empire, and when we reflect that that empire contains within itself nearly half the population of the world, we can readily suppose that a few millions, more or less, transplanted to the new world would not very perceptibly diminish its influence or strength. The Chinamen are represented as quiet and docile, economical in their way of living, and working for small wages, and as being eminently adapted for the building of railroads, and the development of the mineral wealth with which nature has so lavishly enriched the territory on both slopes of the Rocky Mountains, and, being as yet only a moiety of the population, are easily controlled. But, should the tide of Asiatic emigration commence to flow freely eastward, the gravest fears are entertained by many that it would lead either to the systematic oppression or even partial enslavement of the Chinese themselves, or to the deterioration of the Caucasians of that beautiful region, soon destined to become the garden of America.

{404}

Taking into account, however, the great adaptability of all classes of immigrants in this country to the condition of affairs by which they find themselves surrounded, the fears of even a Chinese invasion appear groundless. Every day and year bring with them large accessions of energetic and healthy minds to the ranks of the native-born Americans--some the children of the sons of the soil; others, of adopted citizens; but all American in spirit and purpose, no matter what their parentage. Even this uniformity extends to their _physique_, and it has been remarked by visitors to our shores that the native-born boy or girl, however dissimilar the peculiar physical traits of their progenitors, presents strong points of resemblance in figure and face to each other. Something of this may be accounted for by food and climate, training and association, but much more by the fact of the admixture of races constantly going forward. The heavy features of the northern European are more or less elongated and brightened into thoughtful cheerfulness in his American child, while the angularity and pugnacity supposed to be characteristic of the Celtic countenance are reduced to finer lines of grace and repose in their cis-Atlantic descendants.

Taking American character as it stood at the beginning of this century, we cannot deny our admiration of its essential features, though many of its details were susceptible of improvement. Our stateliness had a tendency to what is now generally called Puritanism, and our simplicity was apt to degenerate into parsimoniousness. Our ancestors wanted a little more breadth of view, a little leaven of the poetry of life to mix with its stern realities, and a great deal more love for innocent amusements, and taste for the fine arts, which make man feel more kindly to his fellow, and raise him so high above irrational animals. Immigration has done much for us in this way, and we have done something for ourselves. If we have extended to the strangers within our gates hospitality, protection, and the rewards of labor, they have paid us with the sculpture of Italy, the music of Germany, the melodies of Ireland, and the fashions of France. It has not only done this, but it has reproduced and naturalized the love for them, and made them "racy of the soil." But what is of more importance than all, it has efficiently helped the spread of true religious faith over this portion of the continent. True, there were Catholics and very good ones here, even in colonial times; but they were few in number, and so scattered over the country that they were in constant danger either of losing their faith for want of spiritual ministration or were powerless to assert their proper position before the opposing sects. We have now not only numbers, but the influence that flows from numbers, and generously and judiciously has our immigrant population used the power inherent in it. During the late civil strife which so afflicted our country, and endangered the Union, citizens by adoption vied with citizens by birth in defence of our institutions, and in their contributions to works of piety, charity, and education they have been so profuse that to others the results of their charities seem little short of miraculous. {405} Even those who have come among us of a different creed, or no creed at all, have here a better opportunity of learning the truth than they have had in their own countries. Unfettered by statecraft or sectional laws, the Catholic priesthood have a field of labor in America such as the whole of Europe cannot present, and an audience composed of as many races as the sons of Adam represent. Realizing the great things done by our immigrants, and what may yet be expected from them, we hope to see their protection and welfare occupy a portion, at least, of the attention of our national and state authorities. But it is not enough that the law has so completely thrown its protecting shield over them. Individual charity can do much to supply the deficiencies which every general law presents. In the city of New York, especially, where a great deal has already been done by the commissioners to whose especial care the immigrants are entrusted by law, much remains still to be performed, in view of the hundreds of thousands of strangers who may annually be expected among us, for the next decade, at least.

----------

Vigil.

I.

Mournful night is dark around me,
Hushed the world's conflicting din;
All is still and all is tranquil--
But this restless heart within!

II.

Wakeful still I press my pillow,
Watch the stars that float above,
Think of _One_ for me who suffered;
Think, and weep for grief and love!

III.

Flow, ye tears, though in your streaming
Oft yon stars of his grow dim!
Sweet the tender grief _he_ wakens,
Blest the tears that flow for him!'

Richard Storrs Willis.

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The Geography of Roses.

Wherever man has found a dwelling-place, bounteous nature has conferred on him not only the necessaries of life, but a share also of its pleasures. From "sultry India to the pole," the useful and the beautiful are met with side by side. The bright poppy and the blue cornflower rise with the wheat-ear in the same broad field; the sweet-smelling amaryllis and the delicate iris unfold their variegated petals among the thick stalks of the African maize, while the marsh-rose and the water-lily float on the surface of the waters that inundate the rice-grounds of Egypt and India.

It is evident that nature regards these fair blossoms as indispensable to man's happiness as those other more substantial gifts are to his comfort and existence; and so, with lavish hand, she scatters them on the mountain and in the valley, amidst plains of burning sand, or half-buried in snow and ice.

"Floral apostles! that in dewy splendor
Weep without woe, and blush without a crime,
Oh! may I deeply learn, and ne'er surrender,
Your law sublime.

"Not useless are ye, flowers! though made for pleasure.
Blooming o'er field and wave, by day and night,
From every source your sanction bids me treasure
Harmless delight.

"Ephemeral sages! what instructors hoary
For such a world of thought could furnish scope?
Each fading calyx a _memento mori_,
Yet fount of hope."

The rose, fairest of the floral train, has been said by some botanists to take its birth in Asia. "The east, the cradle of the first man," writes a French author, "is also the native place of the rose; the flowery hillsides near the chain of the frowning Caucasus were the first spots on earth adorned with this charming shrub." We do not incline to this opinion, for the researches of science have proved that the lovely flower is found in every clime, from the arctic circle to the torrid zone, and that under every sun it seems to be endowed with some different grace. The same species is sometimes met with over a whole continent; another is unknown beyond the limits of a certain province; while another again never leaves the mountain or dale where it first shed its sweetness on the air. Thus Pollin's rose (_rosa Pollinaria_) is never found but at the foot of Monte Baldo in Italy, nor the Lyon rose (_rosa Lyonii_) out of the State of Tennessee; while the field-rose (_rosa arvensis_) trails its long branches and clusters of white flowers all over Europe, and the dog-rose (_rosa canina_) displays its pale pink petals and scarlet hips, not only throughout Europe, but also in northern Asia and a part of America.

So numerous, indeed, are the varieties of this favorite of nature, that we will not attempt to describe all that are peculiar to each country; we will confine our attention to those only most remarkable for their beauty, and most easy of culture.

First on the list of American roses, and far away among the eternal ice that covers the almost desert regions which lie between the seventieth and seventy-fifth degrees of north latitude, blooms _rosa blanda_, the charming _soft-colored_ rose, which as soon as the sun has melted the snow in the valleys opens its large corolla, always solitary on its graceful stem, to the warm breathings from the south. {407} We can picture to ourselves the delight of the stunted, amphibious Greenlander, when, the long months of the fierce winter past, he suddenly meets the expanding blossom. He smiles as he remembers how his young wife mourned last year over the death of the flowers, and he plucks the first rose of Greenland's short summer to carry back to her as a proof that she must ever hope and trust.

"Why must the flowers die?
Prisoned they lie
In the cold tomb, heedless of tears and rain.
O doubting heart!
They only sleep below
The soft white ermine snow:
While winter winds shall blow,
To breathe and smile on you again!"

_Rosa blanda's_ nearest neighbor is the pretty _rosa rap_ of Hudson's Bay, whose slender, graceful branches are laden in the early summer with corymbs of pale pink double flowers. Nature herself has doubled _rosa rapa's_ sweet corolla, as if she had foreseen that the wandering tribes of Esquimaux who inhabit those inclement shores would have too much to do in their never-ending struggle to pick up a precarious existence ever to busy themselves with the culture of the cold, unyielding soil.

_Rosa blanda_ and _rosa rapa_ are still at home in Labrador and Newfoundland, but with them two remarkable varieties--the ash-leaved rose, (_rosa fraxinifolia_,) with small red heart-shaped petals, and the lustrous rose, (_rosa nitida_,) which shelters its brilliant red cup-like flower and fruit beneath the scraggy trees that grow sparsely along the coast. The lustrous rose is a great favorite with the young Esquimaux maidens, who dress their black hair with its shining cups, and wear bunches of it, "embowered in its own green leaves," in the bosom of their seal-skin robes.

The United States possess a great number of different roses. At the foot of almost every rocky acclivity we meet the rose with diffuse branches, (_rosa diffusa_,) whose pink flowers, growing in couples on their stem, appear at the beginning of the summer. On the slopes of the Pennsylvanian hills blooms the small-flowered rose, (_rosa parviflora_,) an elegant little species bearing double flowers of the most delicate pink; it may fairly vie in beauty with all other American roses. In most of the Middle States, on the verge of the "mossy forests, by the bee-bird haunted," we find the straight-stemmed rose, (_rosa stricta_,) with light red petals, and the brier-leaved rose, (_rosa rubifolia_,) with small, pale red flowers, growing generally in clusters of three.

The silken rose (_rosa setigera_) opens its great red petals, shaped like an inverted heart, beneath the "cloistered boughs" of South Carolina's woods, and in Georgia the magnificent smooth-leaved rose, (_rosa loevigata_,) known in its native wilds as the Cherokee rose, climbs to the very summit of the great forest trees, then swings itself off in festoons of large white flowers glancing like stars amidst their glossy, dark green leaves.

When we leave the hills and woodlands, we find the marshes of the Carolinas gay with the _rosa evratina_, the _rosa Carolina_, and the _rosa lucida_, the resplendent rose, whose corymbs of brilliant red flowers overtop the reeds among which they love to blossom; while, nearer to the setting sun, we see the pink petals of Wood's rose (_rosa Woodsii_) reflected in the waters of the great Missouri.

The last American rose we shall note in this slight sketch is the rose of Montezuma, (_rosa Montezumae_,) a solitary, sweet-scented, pale red flower with defenceless branches. It was discovered by Humboldt and Bonpland on the elevated peaks of the Cerro Ventoso, in Mexico, and is perhaps the very rose of which the unhappy Guatimozin thought when writhing on his bed of burning charcoal.

{408}

These are some of the species yet known to belong peculiarly to the western hemisphere; but it is highly probable that many others remain still to be discovered. When we remember the prodigality with which nature lavishes her gifts, we cannot believe that while France alone possesses twenty-four varieties of roses, all described by De Candolle in his _Flore Française_, the great American continent owns but fifteen.

We will commence our European rose search in that most unpromising of all spots, Iceland; there, where volcanic fire and polar ice seem to dispute possession of the unhappy soil. So scarce is every kind of vegetation in this rude clime, that the miserable inhabitants are frequently compelled to feed their cows, sheep, and horses on dried fish. And yet even here, growing from the fissures of the barren rocks, a solitary cup-shaped rose opens its pale petals to the transient sunbeams of summer. This hardy little plant is, as its name, _rosa spinosissima_, indicates, covered all over with prickles. Its cream-colored flowers, numerous and solitary, are sometimes tinged with pink on the outside, and its fruit, at first red, becomes perfectly black when ripe.

In Lapland, too, a country almost as disinherited by nature as Iceland, the pretty little May rose (_rosa maïalis_) expands its bright red corolla even before the tardy sun has melted away all the snow that has covered it during nine long months. A little later on, in the full blush of the short summer, "when the pine has a fringe of softer green," the Lapp maidens gather the blood-red flowers of the _rosa rubella_ among the stunted trees whose parasitical mosses and lichens afford a scanty nourishment to the flocks of reindeer, sole riches of the land.

The May rose is also found in Norway, Sweden, Denmark, and Russia, together with the cinnamon rose (_rosa cinnamomea_,) and several other species.

England claims ten indigenous roses, many of them, however, exceedingly difficult to distinguish from each other. The most common is the dog-rose or Eglantine, found in every hedge and thicket, and very precious to rose-cultivators, its elegant, straight, vigorous stems being admirable for receiving grafts. The light pink corolla is slightly perfumed. In olden times the scarlet fruit was made into conserve, and highly esteemed in tarts, but it seems now to be abandoned to the birds. The _rosa arvensis_, a small shrub with long trailing branches and white flowers, and the burnet-leaved rose, which resembles the _rosa spinosissima_ of Iceland, are also very frequently met. But the pride of the southern counties is the _rosa rubiginosa_, the true sweet-briar, with deep pink petals and leaves of the most delicious fragrance; a flower that seems to belong as peculiarly to the soft English spring as the primrose and violet, and like them to be emblematic of the English girl, delicate in her beauty, modest and retiring in her garb and manners, and diffusing around her an atmosphere of gentle sweetness. Such, at least, was the English girl five-and-twenty years ago; it is said that hoops and boots and croquet have produced strange changes. Alas! that simplicity and modesty and sweetness should ever go out of fashion.

{409}

In the Scotch fir-woods is found the rose with rolled petals, (_rosa involuta_.) The large flowers are red and white, and the remarkably sombre leaves when rubbed between the fingers give forth a strong smell of turpentine, an odor the plant has probably acquired from the resinous trees that shelter it. All the rugged mountains of Scotland possess their roses; the _rosa sabini_, with clustering flowers, and the villous or hairy rose, (_rosa villosa_,) with white or deep red, are the most worthy of notice.

It is only in the environs of Belfast that we encounter the Irish rose, (_rosa hibernica_,) a species somewhat resembling both the _spinosissima_ and the _canina_. The other roses of beautiful Ireland are identical with those of England.

The fields and forests of France have been richly endowed with nature's favorite flower. Our now well-known friend _canina_ flourishes there also in every hedge and by every wood-side, together with a pretty white rose, (_rosa alba_,) which has been very successfully cultivated in gardens. The smiling hill-sides around Dijon are gay with the lovely little crimson double flowers of the rose of Champagne, (_rosa parviflora;_) and, in the south, the yellow rose (_rosa eglantaria_) and its varieties surpass all others in the richness of their coloring; their petals sometimes gleaming with the brightest gold, sometimes deepening into a brilliant orange red, sometimes reproducing both hues in vivid flecks and streaks. The woods of Auvergne are bedecked with the small red solitary corollas of the cinnamon rose, (_rosa cinnamomea_,) so called from the color of its stalks; and in the department of the eastern Pyrenees the musk-rose blooms spontaneously in magnificent corymbs. This exquisitely scented species is also extensively cultivated for its aromatic essential oil; one of its kindred is the nutmeg rose, a pretty flower that smells of the spice.

The Province rose, so often remarkable for its variegated petals of white, crimson, and pink, is a variety of the rose of France, (_rosa gallica_,) a species that has given horticulturists a great number of beautiful offshoots.

Crossing the Pyrenean mountains, we again meet with the musk-rose, but this time in close companionship with the rose of Spain, (_rosa hispanica_,) whose bright red petals expand in the month of May.

In the Balearic Islands the climbing branches of the evergreen rose (_rosa semper-virens_,) are seen constantly arrayed in lustrous green leaves mingled with innumerable white perfumed flowers. This beautiful rose is also found in other parts of the south of Europe, and in Barbary.

We have already mentioned Polin's rose, a sweet Italian blossom which never strays from the foot of Monte Baldo, in the neighborhood of Verona. Its large crimson corollas open in handsome clusters.

Sicily and Greece possess the gluey rose, (_rosa glutinosa,_) a small, red, solitary flower, with glandular, viscous leaflets.

Germany is poorer in native roses than any other part of Europe; nevertheless nowhere do the blossoms of the field-rose display such beauty, unless, indeed, among the mountains of Switzerland. Nowhere else are they so large, so deeply tinted, and _double_. Germany also gives birth to the curious turbinated rose, (_rosa turbinata_,) whose double corolla rests on a top-shaped ovary.

The whole chain of the Alps abounds with roses. The field-rose, and the ruby-red Alpine rose, (_rosa alpina_,) an elegant shrub which has contributed many esteemed varieties to our gardens, bloom in admirable luxuriance in every forest glade and mountain dingle; while the red-leaved rose, (_rosa rubrifolia_,) with red stalks and dark red petals, stands out in the summer landscape, a charming contrast to the green foliage of the surrounding trees.

{410}

The leaves of another species growing among the pines and firs of these elevated regions, the rose with prickly leaflets, (_rosa spinulifolia_,) emit when rubbed the same odor of turpentine that we have already noticed in the _rosa involuta_of Scotland. It is singular to observe that the only two roses we know with this smell are both natives of pine-covered mountains.

The east has for ages been esteemed the home of flowers; almost as soon as we can lisp, we are taught that

"In eastern lands they talk with flowers,
And they tell in a garland their loves and cares;
Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowers
On its leaves a mystic language bears."

And in joyous youth who has not dreamed of that "bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream," so sweetly sung by the Irish bard? The very name of India reminds one of Nourmahal and of that most enchanting of all feasts, "the feast of roses."

It will then scarcely surprise any one to be told that Asia, the birthplace of the great human family, is also the birthplace of more varieties of roses than all the other parts of the world put together. Thirty-nine species have been discovered indigenous to this favored portion of the globe, fifteen of which belong to the Chinese empire.

One of the prettiest of these fifteen is the Lawrence rose, (_rosa Lawrenceana_,) a fairy-like bush, six inches high, with flowers not much larger than a silver dime, blooming all the year round. By the side of this pigmy tree, which we must not forget to observe is remarkable for the symmetry of its proportions, is often found the many-flowered rose, (_rosa multiflora_,) whose flexible branches, rising sometimes to the height of sixteen feet, are covered in the early summer with magnificent clusters of pale pink double flowers.

Among the many double Chinese roses, the small-leaved one (_rosa microphylla_) is highly prized and most assiduously cultivated in its native land. Its delicate foliage and pale pink very double flowers are well known also to the rose-fanciers of the United States. Another beautiful variety, the _rosa Banksiae_, climbs the rocky fells of China, hiding their rugged barrenness with a living curtain of verdure, enamelled with multitudes of little drooping flowers of a yellowish white, which exhale the sweet odor of violets.

Cochin-China, with these same species, lays claim to two others that we must notice; the very thorny rose, (_rosa spinosissima_,) with scentless flesh-colored petals, and the white rose, (_rosa alba_,) which we also find indigenous in France, Lombardy, and other parts of Europe. Japan, besides the roses of China, possesses the _rosa rugosa_, the only one peculiar to the clime.

Passing on to Hindostan, we may believe that the tiger which prowls along the burning shores of the Bay of Bengal ofttimes crouches under the boughs blooming with the lovely white corollas of the many-bracted rose (_rosa involucrata_) to make his deadly spring, and that the crocodiles of the Ganges find secure hiding-places to lie in wait for their prey, beneath the ever-succeeding red blossoms and never-fading luxuriant foliage of the _rosa semperflorens_. How often, all the world over, are sweetest things but lurking-places for pain and death!

{411}

Among the hills of the peninsula we meet the large-leaved rose, (_rosa macrophylla_,) the tips of whose white petals are each stained with a small bright red spot; and on the margin of the sunny lakes of cool Cashmere, the milk-white flowers of Lyell's rose, (_rosa Lyellii_,) a beautiful species that has been successfully acclimatized in France.

In the gardens of Kandahar, Samarcand, and Ispahan the rose _tree_ (_rosa arborea_) is cultivated; a real tree, with wide-spreading branches, covered in the spring with snowy flowers of the richest perfume, making fragrant the surrounding hill and dales. In Persia we also find the barberry-leaved rose, (_rosa berberifolia_,) a singular variety which displays a star-like yellow corolla marked in the centre with a deep crimson stain. So unlike is this flower to all others of the family that one feels almost inclined to deny its claim to any relationship with the queen of flowers. Science, however, has decided that the _rosa berberifolia_ is a true rose.

Further on to the west, beneath "the sultry blue of Syria's heaven," we encounter the lovely corymbs of the damask rose, (_rosa damascena_,) with crimson velvet or variegated petals and gold-colored stamens. It is said that the valiant knights who accompanied the French king Saint Louis to the Crusades brought back with them to France this beautiful flower, an ever-living witness of their prowess in the Holy Land. It is as beloved by the honey-bees of Europe as its wilder sisters on the sweet banks of Jordan have ever been by the blossom-rifling rovers of Palestine.

As the rose-seeker wanders forth from Syria toward the north he is arrested for a moment by the vivid yellow double flowers of the _rosa sulfurea_, but has scarcely time to admire them, graceful though they be, before he catches sight of the loveliest and most fragrant of all roses, the _rosa centifolia_, the hundred-leaved rose, the rose of the nightingale, the rose of the poet!

"Rose! what dost thou here?
Bridal, royal rose!
How, 'midst grief and fear,
Canst thou thus disclose
That fervid hue of love which to thy heart-leaf glows?

"Smilest thou, gorgeous flower?
Oh! within the spells
Of thy beauty's power
Something dimly dwells
At variance with a world of sorrows and farewells.

"All the soul forth-flowing
In that rich perfume,
All the proud life glowing
In that radiant bloom,
Have they no place but _here_, beneath th' o'ershadowing tomb?

"Crown'st thou but the daughters
Of our tearful race?
Heaven's own purest waters
Well might wear the trace
Of thy consummate form, melting to softer grace.

"Will that clime enfold thee
With immortal air?
Shall we not behold thee
Bright and deathless there?
In spirit-lustre clothed, transcendently more fair!"

The valleys of Circassia and Georgia are the birthplace of this most beautiful of flowers, of whose exquisite form, color, and perfume even Mrs. Hemans's rapturous verses can give no idea.

The fierce rose (_rosa ferox_) is sometimes found mingling its great red flowers with those of _rosa centifolia_, and the pulverulent rose (_rosa pulverulenta_) dwells near them on the declivities of the Peak of Manzana.

As we hasten on through the dreary steppes of Russian Asia, we meet the sad-looking yellowish rose, dismal in aspect as the land it lives in, and more remarkable for its great pulpy hip than for its flower. A little nearer to the north, the handsome, large-flowered rose (_rosa grandiflora_) expands its elegant corolla in the form of an antique vase, and on the plains lying at the foot of the Ural mountains the reddish rose, (_rosa rubella_,) with petals sometimes rich and deep in color, but more often faint and faded-looking, gladdens for a moment the heart-sore Polish exile as he wends his weary way to his living grave, faint and faded-looking as the flower that reminds him of his distant home.

{412}

Despite the cold breath of the frozen ocean, the acicular rose (_rosa acicularis_) lives and thrives on its shores, and regularly opens its pale-red solitary blossoms at the first call of the short-lived Siberian summer. The icy breezes of the frigid zone may have done much, however, toward developing the ill-natured tendency to long, needle-like thorns to which this rose owes its uncouth name.

Omitting ten or twelve other varieties, we will conclude the list of the indigenous roses of Asia with the rose of Kamtschatka, (_rosa Kamtschatica_,) a beautiful solitary flower of a pinkish white color, and bearing some resemblance to the _rosa rugosa_ of Japan.

The roses of Africa are still to be discovered; its vast unexplored regions perhaps contain many as beautiful as those we possess, but at present we are only acquainted with four or five species, one of which, the dog-rose, so common all over Europe, is a native of Egypt. Among the mountains of Abyssinia blooms a pretty red variety with evergreen foliage, and on the borders of that "wild expanse of lifeless sand," the great Sahara in Egypt, and on the plains of Tunis and of Morocco, the corymbs of the white musk-rose (_rosa moschata_) perfume the ambient air. This charming flower is also indigenous to the Island of Madeira.

We have thus taken a bird's-eye view of the rose's _habitat_, passing over much of interesting, much of curious that has been written about the favorite flower. We might go on and mention the singular and marvellous virtues attributed to it by the ancients; we might (were we learned) learnedly discourse on the Island of Rhodes, whose coins are found bearing the effigy of the rose; of the rose-noble, and the old English fashion of wearing a rose behind the ear; we might describe the gardens of Ghazipour and the whole process of extracting the delicious attar of roses; we might hint at the mysterious influence the scented blossom appears to exercise over some strangely organized individuals, who seem capable "of dying of a rose, in aromatic pain;" but we prefer to conclude here our sketch of the geography of roses.

Unlearned and superficial as we well know it is, it may show some pleasant meanings to the young lover of flowers, and awaken his curiosity to examine for himself the floral treasures that bloom in every field, garden, and grove. Such a study will do more toward filling his heart with a spirit of love and peace, and elevating his mind above purely material cares, than any other pursuit; for

"Where does the Wisdom and the Power divine
In a more bright and sweet reflection shine?"

"From nature up to nature's God" is the natural result of all scientific investigations which are carried on with a real capacity of observation and a sincere love of truth. Feeling and thought, purified and sanctified by constant intercourse with the high objects of life, with the enduring things of nature, fail not to recognize the "Wisdom and the Spirit of the universe" in his works.

"Were I, O God! in churchless lands remaining,
Far from all voice of teachers or divines,
My soul would find, in flowers of thy ordaining,
Priests, sermons, shrines!"

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{413}

Spanish Life and Character. [Footnote 120]

[Footnote 120: _Impressions of Spain_. By Lady
Herbert. New York: The Catholic Publication Society.
1869.

_Letters from Spain_. By William Cullen Bryant. 12mo.
New York: D. Appleton & Co.

_Voyage en Espagne_. Par M. Eugène Poitou. 8vo, pp.
483. Tours: A. Mame et Fila. 1869.]

Lady Herbert strikes the key-note of her narrative of Spanish travel about the middle of the book. "Catholicism in Spain," she remarks, "is not merely the religion of the people: _it is their life_." Precisely because she feels this life, and, despite her English common sense, sympathizes with the Spanish people in their strong religious sentiment, she describes them with a rare fidelity, and gives us, if not a highly colored, a very vivid picture. No traveller who is not a Catholic can paint Spain as she is. Mr. Bryant looked at the people with a kindly eye; but he did not understand them. From him, as well as from the common run of English and American tourists, we get mere surface sketches--pleasant enough to read, perhaps, but that is all. Protestant travellers see no more of the popular life and character than if they sailed over the country in a balloon. They find the diligences marvels of antiquated discomfort; the railways, miracles of unpunctuality and slowness; travel, a hardship which there is little attempt to alleviate. They find that in Spain no Spaniard is ever in a hurry, and no stranger is allowed to be so either. If they are kept shivering at a roadside station three or four hours in the midst of the night, waiting for some lumbering railway train, on a seatless, unsheltered platform, they get no commiseration from the surly officials but an exhortation to "paciencia." If government is bad and robbers are bold, the Spaniard goes on sipping his sugared water and repeats, "Paciencia, paciencia!" If the country is two or three generations behind the rest of Europe in all the appliances of material comfort, why, "_Paciencia, paciencia!_" That is the great panacea for all the ills of human life. These peculiarities, the wretchedness and extravagant charges of all the hotels, and the horrors of the Spanish _cuisine_, fill most of the travellers' journals. But Lady Herbert found a plenty of religious beauty underneath this dilapidated exterior. God and the church are so near to the people's hearts that the mixture of religion with the language and business of every day shocks a stranger at first as something irreverent. Pious traditions are familiar to every Spaniard from his cradle. They come up every hour of the day. They color every man's conversation, they affect, more or less intimately, everybody's conduct; nay, it is difficult sometimes to separate them from the Spaniard's faith, for he clings to a pious legend almost as stoutly as he holds to an article of the creed. The peasant woman plants rosemary in her garden, because there is a story that when our Lord was an infant the Blessed Virgin hung out his clothes upon a rosemary bush to dry. Red roses get their color from a drop of the Saviour's blood which fell on them from the cross. A swallow tried to pluck the thorns from the head of the crucified Christ, and therefore no Spaniard will shoot a swallow. {414} The owl was present when our Lord expired, and since then has ceased to sing, his only cry being "_Crux, crux!_" Half the dogs in Spain are called Melampo, because that was the name of the dog of the shepherds who came to Bethlehem. Protestants may laugh at the credulity which listens to such legends, but to our minds there is the simplicity of real piety in the national belief, and we cannot think that God will be angry with the people if they believe a little too much in his honor. Protestants may sneer at the public reverence which is paid to sacred things, and call it a gross mark of superstition to show as much respect to the Blessed Sacrament as to a governor or a general in the army; but we confess our sympathies are with Lady Herbert when she describes the sentinels at San Sebastian presenting arms as he passes before the chapel door, or the shopkeeper who interrupts a bargain to rush out into the street and kneel down before the Viatacum, exclaiming "_Sua maesta viene!_" What a sweet flavor of real piety there is in the popular term for alms, "_la bolsa de Dios_," "God's purse!"--a purse, by the way, which is never empty. Beggars are treated with a tenderness that is felt for them nowhere else but in Ireland. The poor peasant may have little or nothing to give; but if he refuses, he begs pardon for doing so. There is no city without its charity hospitals, marvels of cleanliness, comfort, and order. There is hardly a town without its asylum, where religious mea or women tend the unfortunate, shelter the destitute, feed the hungry, and rear the orphan and the foundling. Convents have been depopulated and monastic orders banished throughout the kingdom, but the more active brotherhoods and sisterhoods are spared, and are doing magnificent work. The deserted convents, magnificent in their decay, speak eloquently of the zeal and piety of the people, whose greatest fault it is as a nation that they have trusted too much to weak and unworthy rulers. Every one of these religious monuments is the scene of some holy legend, and most of them are hallowed by incidents in the lives of saints, of whom Spain has been the birthplace and home of so many hundreds. Lady Herbert tells a significant story which shows how closely religion is bound up with the thoughts of the people. She was visiting the ancient palace of Toledo, when a peasant woman, sitting by the gate, asked the guide if the strange lady was an Englishwoman, "because she walked so fast." On being answered in the affirmative, she exclaimed, "Oh! what a pity. I liked her face, and yet she is an infidel!" The guide pointed to a little crucifix which hung from a rosary at Lady Herbert's side, whereat the peasant sprang from her seat and kissed both the cross and the visitor.

Spanish courtesy even has a religious flavor. Ask a Spaniard to point out the road, and nothing will do but he must go with you on your way, and pray God's blessing on your head when he leaves you. No matter how poor he may be, you must not offer money for such services; he will be either grieved or indignant, at what seems to him an insult. There is piety also in the Spanish reverence for age. If an old man passes the peasant's door at meal-time, he is offered a place at the table, and begged to ask a blessing on the repast.

There is, in fine, a lovable and engaging side to Spanish character from which we cannot but expect a great and beneficial influence upon the national destinies. Faith has its rewards even in this life, and we cannot believe that a nation which adhered so firmly to religion will be overthrown without some very grave offence of its own. {415} The reverential tendency of Spanish character has no doubt overpassed, in political affairs, its legitimate barriers, and loyalty has done some mischief as well as good. Respect for legitimate authority has not always been distinguished from a fanatical devotion to the persons of bad or incompetent rulers. There is a great deal of truth, albeit much falsehood likewise, in Mr. Buckle's explanation of the causes of Spanish greatness and Spanish decay. Give the kingdom a great sovereign, like Charles V., and with an obedient and devoted people the nation may be raised to the pinnacle of greatness and prosperity. But no people which has not been taught to depend upon itself can long keep in the van. Greatness is not inherited with titles and possessions; weak rulers are sure to come sooner or later, and then the country finds that it leans upon a broken reed. Spain discovers now that she has suffered her kings to monopolize the responsibilities which ought to have been divided among the whole people, and their duties have not been fulfilled. The nation has slept a sleep of centuries in the comfortable confidence that government would take care of everything, do all the thinking, make all the needed improvements, and educate the country as a father educates his children. It seems to have been forgotten that this was a task which only those mighty geniuses who appear once in a century are strong enough to perform. An indolent, weak, and careless ruler under the Spanish system allows his people to lag behind in the struggle for national preëminence; a bad ruler plunges them into misery and disgrace. Spain has suffered terribly from both these afflictions; we do not believe, however, that her case is desperate. While there is much in the present condition of the kingdom to fill all thoughtful men with alarm, there is promise in the awakened activity of national life, and in the very spirit of revolution which is driving the liberal party into such lamentable excesses. It is dirty work to clean up the dust of three or four centuries. Great political changes are almost always accompanied by disorder; but when the uproar subsides, and new parties crystallize out of the fragments of the present tumult, when the people feel that to be great and prosperous they must use their own power, and cease to be fed with a spoon, we believe that there is so much faith and piety at the bottom of the Spanish heart, and so much real nobleness in the national character, that a brighter destiny will be within their reach than has beamed upon them since the days of Charles and Philip.

We have wandered far away from the volume with which we began our remarks, and left ourselves little room to praise Lady Herbert's narrative as it deserves to be praised. We shall content ourselves here with citing a description of a man who has occupied a prominent place in the recent history of Spain. We mean Father Claret, the queen's confessor:

"One only visit was paid, which will ever remain in the memory
of the lady who had the privilege. It was to Monsignor Claret,
the confessor of the queen and Archbishop of Cuba, a man as
remarkable for his great personal holiness and ascetic life as
for the unjust accusations of which he is continually the
object. On one occasion, these unfavorable reports having
reached his ears, and being only anxious to retire into the
obscurity which his humility makes him love so well, he went to
Rome to implore for a release from his present post; but it was
refused him.
{416}
Returning through France, he happened to travel with certain
gentlemen, residents in Madrid, but unknown to him, as he was
to them, who began to speak of all the evils, real or
imaginary, which reigned in the Spanish court, the whole of
which they unhesitatingly attributed to Monsignor Claret, very
much in the spirit of the old ballad against Sir Robert Peel:

'Who filled the butchers' shops with big blue flies?'

He listened without a word, never attempting either excuse or
justification, or betraying his identity. Struck with his
saint-like manner and appearance, and likewise very much
charmed with his conversation during the couple of days'
journey together, the strangers begged at parting to know his
name, expressing an earnest hope of an increased acquaintance
at Madrid. He gave them his card with a smile! Let us hope they
will be less hasty and more charitable in their judgments, for
the future. Monsignor Claret's room in Madrid is a fair type of
himself. Simple even to severity in its fittings, with no
furniture but his books, and some photographs of the queen and
her children, it contains one only priceless object, and that
is a wooden crucifix, of the very finest Spanish workmanship,
which attracted at once the attention of his visitor. 'Yes, it
is very beautiful,' he replied in answer to her words of
admiration; 'and I like it because it expresses so wonderfully
_victory over suffering_. Crucifixes generally represent
only the painful and human, not the triumphant and divine view
of the redemption. Here, he is truly victor over death and
hell.'

"Contrary to the generally received idea, he never meddles in
politics, and occupies himself entirely in devotional and
literary works. One of his books, _Camino recto y seguro para
llegar al Cielo_, would rank with Thomas a Kempis's
_Imitation_ in suggestive and practical devotion. He keeps
a perpetual fast; and, when compelled by his position to dine
at the palace, still keeps to his meagre fare of 'garbanzos,'
or the like. He has a great gift of preaching; and when he
accompanies the queen in any of her royal progresses, is
generally met at each town when they arrive by earnest
petitions to preach, which he does instantly, without rest or
apparent preparation, sometimes delivering four or five sermons
in one day. In truth, he is always 'prepared,' by a hidden life
of perpetual prayer and realization of the unseen."

For the rest, it is only necessary to add a word upon the admirable manner in which the American publishers have presented Lady Herbert's book to their patrons. It is beautifully printed upon thick, rich paper, and illustrated with excellent wood-cuts, and will easily bear comparison with the choice productions of the secular press, as a book for the parlor table and for holiday presents as well as for the library.

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From The German Of Baron Stolberg.

Filial Affection As Taught And Practised By The Chinese.

"Honor thy father and thy mother,
that thou mayest be long-lived in the land
which the Lord thy God will give thee."

In a remarkable work, entitled _Mémoires concernant l'histoire, les sciences, les arts, les moeurs, les usages, etc., etc., des Chinois_, written by two natives of China who had spent their early years in Europe, and had there added the sciences of the west to the learning of the east, and hallowed their knowledge with "the love of Christ which surpasseth all knowledge," the greater part of a quarto volume is devoted to the "Teachings of the Chinese concerning filial affection."

{417}

What follows is taken from _Li-ki_, a very ancient Chinese work, written long before the time of the great Confucius. Confucius was born in the year of the world 3452, before Christ 551, in the twenty-eighth year of the lifetime of Cyrus.

"Be ever penetrated by religion and your exterior will bespeak
a man whose regard is directed inward upon his soul; and your
words will be the language of one who controls his passions."
...

"Religion alone can render indissoluble the ties that attach
the subject to his prince, the inferior to the superior, the
son to the father, the younger brother to the elder."

"A son filled with filial affection hears the voice of his
father and mother, even when they are not speaking with him,
and he sees them even when he is not in their presence."

"At the first call of a father, all should be forsaken in order
to go to him."

"Mourning for parents should continue three years."

"A son had murdered his father in the kingdom of Tochu. The
authorities reported the crime to King Ting-kong. He rose from
his mat; sighed, Alas! the fault is mine! I know not how to
govern! He issued an edict for the future. Such a murderer must
be instantly put to death; the house must be razed, and the
governor must abstain from wine during a month."

"The peace of the realm depends on the filial affection
entertained for parents and the respect shown to elder
brothers."

The following are extracts from a canonical book of the Chinese entitled _Hiao-king_, the last work of Confucius, written 480 years before the birth of Christ, during the time of Xerxes.

"Filial affection is the root of all virtues, and the fountain
head of all teaching."

"Whosoever loves his parents can hate nobody; whosoever honors
them can despise nobody. If a ruler evinces unlimited respect
and affection to his parents, the virtue and wisdom of his
people will be increased twofold. Even barbarians will submit
to his decrees."

"If thou entertainest toward thy father the love thou hast for
thy mother, and the respect thou hast for thy ruler, thou wilt
serve thy ruler with filial affection."

"O immensity of filial affection! how wonderful thou art! What
the revolutions of the planets are for the citadel of heaven,
what fertility is for the fields of the earth, that, filial
affection is for nations. Heaven and earth never deceive. Let
nations follow their example, and the harmony of the world will
be as indefectible as the light of heaven, and as the
productions of the earth!"

"A prince who causes himself to be loved, and who improves the
morals of men, is the father and mother of nations! How perfect
must be the virtue which guides nations to that which is
greatest of all, whilst they are following the inclinations of
their hearts!"