But the flower of all others was the rose. There were roses everywhere; clambering roses over the porches and windows, sending their fragrance into the rooms; roses beside the walks; roses around the yard and in the garden; roses of every hue and delicate refinement of perfume; rich yellow roses thick on their briery bushes, coming almost with the dandelions and buttercups, before any others dared face the April showers to learn if March had truly gone, sweet as if they had come from Paradise to be worn upon young maidens’ bosoms, as they might well have done--who knows?--followed by the Giant of Battles on their stout stems, glorious enough to have been the worthy badge of victorious Lancastrian kings; white Yorks, hardly less royal; cloth-of-golds; dainty teas; rich damasks; old sweet hundred-leafs sifting down their petals on the grass, and always filling with two the place where one had fallen. These and many more whose names have faded made the air fragrant, whilst the catbirds and mocking-birds fluttered and sang among them, and the robins foraged in the grass for their greedy yellow-throats waiting in the hidden nests. Looking out over the fields was a scene not to be forgotten. Let me give it in the words of one who knew and loved Virginia well, and was her best interpreter:[1]-- [1] Dr. George W. Bagby. His “Old Virginia Gentleman” is perhaps the best sketch yet written in the South. To it I am doubtless indebted for much in this paper. His description might do for a picture of Staunton Hill resting in delicious calm on its eminence above the Staunton River. [Illustration: _Tobacco._] “A scene not of enchantment, though contrast often made it seem so, met the eye. Wide, very wide fields of waving grain, billowy seas of green or gold as the season chanced to be, over which the scudding shadows chased and played, gladdened the heart with wealth far spread. Upon lowlands level as the floor the plumed and tasselled corn stood tall and dense, rank behind rank in military alignment--a serried army lush and strong. The rich, dark soil of the gently swelling knolls could scarcely be seen under the broad lapping leaves of the mottled tobacco. The hills were carpeted with clover. Beneath the tree-clumps fat cattle chewed the cud, or peaceful sheep reposed, grateful for the shade. In the midst of this plenty, half hidden in foliage, over which the graceful shafts of the Lombard poplar towered, with its bounteous garden and its orchards heavy with fruit near at hand, peered the old mansion, white, or dusky red, or mellow gray by the storm and shine of years. “Seen by the tired horseman halting at the woodland’s edge, this picture, steeped in the intense quivering summer moonlight, filled the soul with unspeakable emotions of beauty, tenderness, peace, home. “How calm could we rest In that bosom of shade with the friends we love best!