It was the flower dedicated to love--to Cupid and Venus. Cupid bestowed it as an emblem upon Harpocrates, the god of silence, to bind him not to betray the evil of his mother, Venus. In consequence the rose became symbolical of silence, and was gracefully distributed on the guest-table as a delicate reminder that all confidences should be respected. Comus, deity of the table, Hebe and Ganymede, nectar-bearers to the gods, were crowned with roses. The rose is typical of youth as well as beauty. During the greatest opulency of the ancient empires its purity was often sullied by effeminacy and sensuality. Who has not heard of the roses of the valley of Cashmere? Who has not longed to behold their exquisite perfection? Who, in contemplating the forms and colors, the lights and shadows of Flora's choicest blooms, has not found language failing in fineness to express the delicate eloquence of the rose? Who, in cultivating it, has not felt solicitude and affection for these creatures of the garden? Who has not had his anger excited in beholding a bud ruthlessly torn by sacrilegious hands and has not looked upon the broken stem as he would upon a bleeding artery? Who, in cultivating roses, has not spiritually felt the better for it? The subtlety of its fragrance, the grace of its form, the perfect harmony of its tones appeal to the imagination like music to the soul. In the whole range of nature's variety and completeness nothing so satisfies the idea of perfection as the rose. 'Tis grace idealized and the quintessence of beauty in its flowing lines and curves. The relative position of the rose to its stem suggests majesty; its color in contrast to its leaves, completeness; the unfolding of its petals, grace; its tintings fulfill that esthetic delight, harmony; its fragrance, the sublimated breath of a fairer existence. In all candor, does it not more than satisfy the degree superlative? Nature has richly endowed the earth with roses. Every country can offer its wild-rose tributes on Flora's shrine, with but one single exception, and that Australia. There are over eighty varieties of the wild rose known, the greater number being indigenous to Asia. With experimenting and cultivating, varieties of roses have multiplied by hundreds; and rose culture, like everything else in this nineteenth century, has become a science. Roses are like children, requiring warmth and affection. In a mild climate, where the seasons do not vary greatly in regard to temperature, the rose outvies tradition itself, and unfolds and matures with a regularity quite astonishing. California climate is nature's elected home for roses. In almost any portion of the State removed from the immediate harsh influences of the coast, roses revel, from the tiniest boutonniere rose, with its pert little face, to that great lusty fellow, big as a large saucer and as hardy as a cabbage.