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civic chain, a token of honours to be domestically
remembered through an illimitable

This is, as far as we know, all that can be
told, with veracity and honour, of the LIFE


THERE was once a mighty queen, in whose
garden grew the choicest flowers of every
season of the year, the fairest of every clime.
But, she loved the roses most of all, and of
them she had the greatest variety, from the
wild thorn with green, apple-scented leaves to
the most beautiful rose of Provence. They
grew up the palace walls, twined around the
columns and over the windows, in along the
passages and up to the ceiling in every hall;
and the roses mingled together in odour, form,
and colour.

But, care and sorrow dwelt within; the
queen lay on a bed of sickness, and the
physicians announced that she must die.

"She may yet be saved!" said the wisest
among them. "Bring to her the fairest rose
of the world, that one which is the expression
of the highest and purest love. Let it come
before her eyes ere they close, and she will
not die."

And young and old came from all around,
bringing rosesthe fairest that bloomed in
every garden; but the rose was not among
them. From the bower of Love they might
bring flowers; but what rose there, was the
expression of the highest, the purest love?

And the poets sang of the world's fairest
roseeach one naming his own; and there
went a message far over the land, to every
heart that beat in lovea message to every
rank and to every age.

"No one has yet named the flower," said the
sage. "No one has pointed out the place on
which it grew up in all its glory. It is not
the rose from Romeo and Juliet's tomb, nor
from Valborg's grave, though these roses will
ever breathe fragrance through legend and
song. It is not the rose which bloomed from
Winkelried's bloody lances: from the hallowed
blood which wells out from the breast of the
hero dying for his fatherland; although no
death is more sweet, and no rose redder than
is the blood which then flows forth. Nor is
it that wonderful flower for whose sake man
gives up years and days and long sleepless
nights, in the solitary closet, aye, sacrifices his
fresh life to cultivatethe magic rose of

"I know where it blooms," said a happy
mother who came with her tender infant to
the queen's bedside. "I know where the
world's fairest rose is found!—the rose which
is the expression of the highest and the purest
love. It blooms on the glowing cheeks of my
sweet child, when, refreshed with sleep, it
opens its eyes and laughs toward me in the
fulness of its love."

"Fair is that rose," said the sage, "but
there is one still more beautiful."

"Yes, far more beautiful!" said one of the
women. "I have seen it; a purer, holier rose
blooms not on earth. But it was pale, as the
leaves of the tea-rose. On the cheeks of the
queen I saw it. She had laid her royal crown
aside, and went herself with her sick child,
watching with it through the long sad night.
She wept over it, kissed it, and prayed to God
for it, as a mother prays in the hour of

"Holy and wonderful in its power is
sorrow's white rose, but still that is not the

"No! the world's fairest rose I saw before
the altar of the Lord," said the pious old
bishop. "I saw it shining as though the face
of an angel appeared. The young maidens
went up to the Lord's table, to renew their
baptismal covenant; and the roses glowed,
and the roses paled upon their fresh cheeks.
A young girl stood there; in the fulness of
her soul's purity and love she looked up to
her God. That was the expression of the
purest and the highest love!"

"Blessed was she," said the sage; "but no
one has yet named the world's fairest rose."

A child came into the roomthe Queen's
little son. Tears stood in his eyes and on his
cheeks. He carried a large open book, with
velvet binding and large silver clasps.
"Mother!" said the little one, "oh, just
listen to what I have read here!" And the
child seated itself by the bed, and read from
the Book of Him who gave himself up to
death on the cross, that all men might be
saved, even generations yet unborn. "There
is no greater love than this!"

A rosy gleam-passed over the queen's
cheeks; her eyes became bright and clear;
for she saw unfolding itself from the pages of
the Book the "World's Fairest Rose."

"I see it!" said she. "He will never die
who looks upon that Rose, the fairest flower
of earth!"


WHETHER it was a cripple or a dandy, an
old gentleman or a young gentleman, who first
invented walking-sticks, cannot now be
determined. That the pilgrim of the Middle
Ages used a staff we know well from song and
story;—a stout, strong, serviceable staff, shod
with iron, which stood no nonsense; for it
was intended not merely to support the
pilgrim when weary, and to aid the ascent and
descent of hills and mountains; but to quell
the familiarities of rough wayfarers. There
was a protuberance a short distance below
the top, to afford a firm grasp; and the
upper part formed a hollow tube, in which

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