In the Santa Clara. 271 



To talk for weeks how much of this and that 



Is necessary that a plant may grow; 

 What rain-fall, dew-fall, sun, wind, cloud are pat, 



And then tell others what you do not know; 



To raise within a busy cranium 



At least six crops before you plant at all ; 

 To write long letters, and for papers some, 



Is Horticulture Theoretical. 



To feel the sunshine and the morning dew ; 



To smell the ground in the first days of spring; 

 To have for company yourself and you ; 



To hear the robins and the bluebirds sing ; 



To hoe and harrow, and to put plain dirt 



On living seeds, and then to wait awhile ; 

 To be afield in democratic shirt, . 



And use your muscles in plebeian style; 



To take all nature in your hardened hands. 



Train trees, train vines, plant, prune, protect and pluck, 



Believe in self, and in your fertile lands, 



And have more faith in living than in luck ; 



And then at last to sit in welcome style. 



With golden fruits heaped up in royal state, 

 Offered by beauty, with a gracious smile. 



To strangers dwelling in the city gate ; 



To taste, to eat, to feel the throb of pride, 



To rise rejoicing from the festival ; 

 To clasp new friends with old ones by your side, 



This, this is Horticulture Practical. 



Hon. M. M. Estee followed with an address on the glorious climate of 

 California, in the course of which he spread wide his arms — in metaphor — 

 to embrace the coming millions. E. J. Hickson spoke for " The Press of 

 the Golden State; " and Mr. T. S. Hubbard, of New York, of " The Successful 

 Past." Vice-President T. V. Munson was regarded by us as the prophet of 

 the Society, and he was accordingly assigned the toast, " What of the Future ?" 

 to which he responded with his proverbial ability. The delicate part of the 

 evening's exercises, under the title of " The Ladies," was assigned to the dig- 

 nified J. M. Smith, of Wisconsin, who handled his angelic subject with the 

 courtesy of a knight. The last speech of the evening, and the most witty of 

 all, was made by the good-humored and perfectly correct Nicholas Ohmer, 

 of Dayton, Ohio, who responded to the toast, " When shall we meet again ? " 

 That question, permit me to say, is difl&cult to solve. Alas ! when shall we 

 meet again ? Certainly, not this side of the shadows. That crossing of mul- 



