matter, it is a new variety obtained,—a gain,
and it takes its place in the market. Much in
the same trading spirit the grocers began by
adulterating coffee; then they sold chicory
with it; after that they suppressed the coffee
altogether and sold chicory only; finally, they
adulterated the chicory."

It is singular to notice, and a proof of its
universal fame, how little the name of the rose
varies amongst different nations. The Greeks
called it ?ó???, the Arabs rod, the Latins rosa—
a form which the Italians, Spaniards, Portuguese,
and Russians adhere to,—the Germans,
English, French, and Danes, rose; the Poles roza,
the Swedes ros, and the Dutch roos. There
are roses in all countries. Nature, wishing to
make them the type of grace and beauty,
has bestowed them on every climate, and thus
they are raised in the worst gardens and in
the most ungrateful soil; their cultivation, too,
gives less trouble than that of any other flower. A
curious custom formerly prevailed in France,
which is related by Sauval. The dukes and
peers, whether princes of the blood or "sons of
France," were obliged in the spring that followed
their nomination, to present roses to parliament.
This was called the ceremony of roses.
The peer or prince who presented these roses
caused herbs and flowers to be strewn in the
halls of parliament, and before it sat gave a
magnificent breakfast. He then entered each
chamber, having a large silver basin carried
before him filled with bouquets of roses and
pinks, which he distributed. As an
indication of the custom, Sauval cites an
ordinance of the parliament of the 17th of June,
1541, by which it was decreed that Louis de
Bourbon Montpensier, who was created duke
and peer in February, 1538, should present
his roses before François de Clèves, created
Duke of Nevers, and a peer in the month of
January of the same year. Francis, Duke of
Alençon, one of the sons of Henry the Second,
performed the graceful ceremony in 1580; its
origin is unknown, and the period of its abolition
alike uncertain. The rose used also to
have at Rome, during Lent, a Sunday of its
own—dominica in rosa—and a golden rose is
even now annually blessed by the Pope, and
sent as a signal mark of pontifical favour to
some sovereign or royal princess. The
Academy of Floral Games at Toulouse, founded
in 1322, re-established in 1500 by Clemence
Isaure, and still in existence, gave a rose as
a prize for the best poem. Poor L. E. L.
recorded this custom in some of her sweetest
verse.

Let us make a transition from the sweet to
the useful: When Parmentier first endeavoured
to propagate potatoes in France, in the reign
of Louis the Sixteenth, they were
recommended to public notice, not by their esculent
properties, but by their flowers, which, on
account of their novelty, immediately became
the fashion, and all the court ladies wore
potato-flowers in their hair. As to the potato
itself, nobody would touch it, and Parmentier
only succeeded in making people think it of
value by setting up a notice in his potato-garden
threatening to prosecute with the utmost
rigour of the law whoever was caught stealing
them. The grounds were robbed in
consequence, and the merits of the root were
recognised. Before Parmentier's time, the potato
was considered a species of truffle, and in the
Ecole du Potager, a work published in 1752, it
is thus described: "Here is a plant of which no
author has yet spoken, probably from contempt
for it, as it has long been known. It would,
however, be an act of injustice to omit a fruit
which is eaten by many. I shall not speak better
of it than it deserves, for I am aware of all its
defects; but I think it ought to have a place with
other fruits, because it has its utility, and some
persons like it. Besides the common people and
the peasants, I am able to state, from my own
knowledge, that numbers are passionately fond
of it. I set aside the question whether this be a
legitimate liking or a depraved taste; it is
sufficient for me that it has its partisans. There are
two kinds of these truffles, one red, and the
other white, inclining to yellow; the latter is
preferred, as being the least acrid. This fruit is
susceptible of different modes of dressing, but
the common people simply roast it in the ashes,
and eat it with salt. I acknowledge that it is
tasteless and insipid, and lies heavy on the
stomach, but it has a flavour which pleases those
who take to it. One thing is certain; the fruit
is nourishing, and does not disagree with those
who are accustomed to it in early life. Moreover,
it is a very economical dish, so its advantages
may be said to balance its defects. It is
not unknown in Paris, but is abandoned
entirely to the poorer classes, and people above
that rank would think it beneath them to let
it appear at their tables. I do not wish to
inspire them with a taste which I do not
myself possess, but we ought not to condemn
those whom it pleases, and to whom it is
profitable."

After this profession of faith, full of
impartiality and tolerance, the author of the Ecole du
Potager details the manner of cultivating the
potato, but in a lofty sort of tone, as if the
subject were quite beneath his notice. "Do this or
that," he says; "it is not of much consequence;
the thing is scarcely worth the trouble." He
concludes his remarks on the esculent by
observing that he does not know that it possesses
any medical property; in fact, the poor potato
really cures no malady—excepting hunger!
There was a notion at one time of turning the
vegetable to account by converting it, during a
period of scarcity of flour, into hair-powder.
The attempt was made; the minister of finance
took the potato under his protection, and the
project was at first successful; but when the
powder came to be used, it was found too heavy
and would not stop on the hair, so the experiment
failed, and instead of its decorating the
heads of footmen and persons of fashion, the
multitude made it their daily food, and the
parfait cuisinier discovered a thousand ways of