AN ardent rose lover, whose enthusiasm bubbles over in glowing words, writes to the Canada Farmer, of some of his favorites:

A perfect little gem is Madame Alfred de Rougemont; my first experience in blooming this rose was with it in a pot, and it was a most charming sight. I planted it, however, in the open ground where it passed the last trying winter safely, without any protection; and has been and still is covered with its delicate and lovely roses. The wood and foliage are of a light green, the growth moderately stout, and with a free and graceful habit. The roses are small in size, quite double and full; when newly opened they are most handsomely capped, white with a delicate tint of flesh color, deeper towards the centre. It is a most abundant bloomer, and though by no means showy, is yet exceedingly attractive in its modest loveliness. For bouquets in which light colors predominate, for wreathing the hair or set singly as a loop to gather flowing tresses, it is perfect.

Among the brilliant, dazzling ones I placed in the foremost rank the Due de Rohan. Free and vigorous in habit, its leaves thick and massive, yet glossy in their dark green, the entire tree puts on the air of one of noble blood, the roses are large, double and full, and when newly opened are of a dark rich red brilliantly shaded with vermilion. The petals are of good substance and have that rich velvet-like appearance, which gives such fullness and depth to the glowing color. Apparently perfectly hardy and an abundant bloomer, it will take a commanding position in all our choicest collections.

Another of these dashing showy fellows is Lord Macauley. One would hardly expect the staid old historian's name to have been handed on to coming time linked with such scarlet and crimson robes. But it is a lordly rose nevertheless, and seems likely to thrive well in this inaristocratic land of ours; never losing a bud through all the trying weather of the past winter, it pushed forth its stout, dark green shoots when tardy summer came at last, and clothed them with thick, leathery, shining leaves, which tell of blood. And then came the roses, large, full and showy; noble blooms, opening with a brilliant scarlet crimson which changes at length to a deep glowing crimson of rare richness and beauty.

But for queenly stateliness of habit and queenlike beauty, Madame La Baronne de Rothschild is- peerless among the roses. Others may blush with a more coy and maidenly grace, others may put on more gorgeous apparel and dazzle the eye with purple and scarlet, but she robes herself in glossiest satin, and draws around her the drapery of ample folds dyed with richest, yet most delicate peach-blow tints. The stout shoots, armed with ivory-like spines, have an air of matronly dignity, and the large, very large handsomely cupped, stout petaled roses, borne singly on the extremity of each shoot, and such a clear light satin rose, crown it with royal beauty. I do not wonder if rose growers in England were wild with excitement over the advent of this Queen among Queens, and that the Royal Horticultural Society awarded to her the highest certificate of merit. One thing I have noticed that is worth remembering, it bears the fieroe heat of our July sun uncommonly well.

And what a charming rose, in its stainless purity, is that Boule de Neige. The blooms are small, and in the esteem of some that may be counted a defect, but to me its comparatively miniature size is one of its highest charms. Set off with a single spray of its bright green leaves, how charmingly does its snowy whiteness contrast with those raven looks. And whatever may be wanting in size it more than compensates in the abundance of roses, while the petals are rolled back so neatly one upon the other, that it well deserves the name of Ball of Snow. And last fall, I remember, what an abundance of white roses we gathered from this best of the white autumnals.

And writing of autumn bloomers, reminds me of that Prince of dark roses, Xavier Oliro. Last fall this was one of the most attractive in the bed, and now the tree is covered with roses and rose buds as though its life work was to cover itself with blooms. And such blooms they are, too, magnificent in size and beautifully full, of a deep, yet brilliant velvety scarlet when first open, and gradually changing \o darkest crimson. It is an exceedingly showy rose, that cannot fail to be admired in the choicest selection, beautiful when only its thick, deep green, glossy leaves are to be seen, but gorgeous when mingling with its shining foliage, the darkly glowing roses are seen in the height of their beauty.

But I must stop. Yet I cannot stop until I have shown you the lovely Countess de Chabrillant. Did you ever see such shell-like petals, so beautifully set in cuplike form, and so sweetly tinted with shaded pinks? Is it not a most lovely flower? and each rose is so perfect, not crowded in cluster so close that none can get room to unfold in perfection, but singly, borne on the point of each strong shoot.