WAKSAW HOKTICULTUEAL SOCIETY. 321 



The Scotch peasant, who sung in the world's ear songs that will 

 live forever, was hardly able to get a coat for his back. Yet, the pen 

 of Burns, clipped in the ''wine of the Gods," has thrilled the hearts 

 of millions. Goldsmith was in want. Chatterton was driven to 

 despair. Otway died of starvation. Yet it is not likely that either 

 of these characters would have erased from his writings a single 

 sentiment of sublime truth for the privilege of exchanging circum- 

 stances with the autocrats who neglected them. 



While we cannot hope to rival these models of antiquity in 

 classic lore, their common origin, their struggles, their perseverance, 

 and at last the ripe, rich fruits of their labors are powerful incen- 

 tives to mental activity. Let us also remember that we have the 

 vantage ground of our ancestors in many respects. We are enriched 

 with gifts and privileges to Avhich they were strangers. We have 

 the concentrated experience of many generations, the peaceful shel- 

 ter of a free and prosperous government. Everything seems to urge 

 us on in the pilgrimage of mind. 



Public favor is often a wonderful incentive to mental exertion, 

 inspiring a spirit of emulation by which beneficial results are secured. 

 But it should be counted an ambition far more laudable to thirst for 

 knowledge even "" as the hart pants for the water brooks," not only 

 as a means of securing an honored name among men, and that 

 our own lives, our homes, and our loved ones may be made better 

 and happier thereby, but because we are responsible to God for the 

 talents he has given us. This should be our highest incentive to 

 mental, moral, and spiritual advancement; while the consciousness 

 that we may thoroughly enjoy the fruits of our labor, even as we 

 journey down the stream of time, should inspire us with new zeal 

 for every endeavor. 



The woman who can close the door of her library and wander 

 among the antiquities of the past, or the more modern achievements 

 of the present, whose sweet song of the heart is tuned to the poet's 

 lyre, who can wander about in the fields of nature, and find '' books 

 in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything," 

 can never be the victim of ennui or discontent. She has a never- 

 failing source of pleasure that palls not upon the taste; a fountain 

 of happiness whose springs can never be dried up while reason lasts. 



In contemplating a scene of natural beauty like this upon which 

 we feast our eyes to-day, her soul is drawn by strong, yet invisible 

 cords " from nature up to nature's God." By the eye of faith she 

 is transported to a scene of supernal grandeur " beyond the 

 tide." There are fields of perennial beauty, rocks and hills and 

 streams and valleys, but faintly pictured here ; flowers of fadeless 

 bloom ; music, of which she will never grow weary. The poet was 

 filled with longings for this ''home of the soul" when he sang : 



