240 TRANSACTIONS OF THE HORTICULTURAL 



pushed from some pretty flower which it has just extended it little 

 hand to chisp, and harshly reprimanded for destructiveness. To de- 

 stroy is no part of the little one's thought. It simply reaches for 

 the flower as it does for the sunbeam — because it is pretty. And if 

 it does destroy the flower, broken flowers are of less consideration 

 than childish frowns; and how infinitely more enjoyable is the 

 happy, ringing laugh of a child than the most exquisite flower that 

 ever bloomed. 



The mind of man can conceive of no picture more lovely, or one 

 portraying more innocence and purity, than that of a little child 

 with its tiny hands full of flowers, and joy in every feature as it 

 holds its beautiful treasures up to view, 



only taught by love to love, 



Seems childhood's natural task; 

 Affection, gentleness and hope. 

 Are all its brief years ask." 



But their inevitable path leads into a veiled future, where, in 

 the words of the poet, on seeing the picture of a child tired at play : 



" There will come an eve to a longer day, 

 That will find them tired — but not of play." 



Let us therefore remember how susceptible the mind of child- 

 hood is to almost every influence brought to bear upon it, and how 

 lasting are its early impressions, and teach our children, without 

 harshness, to love the beautiful, and allow them childish pleasures, 

 in the hope that their reminiscences may portray the lights without 

 the shadows of by-gone days. 



As a skillful surgeon acquires his knowledge in the dissecting 

 room, so we must pick our plants and flowers to pieces before we can 

 fully understand and appreciate them; for it is as we understand 

 that we do appreciate. And just here it may not be out of place to 

 say to my flower-loving friends, if any thoughtless person fails to 

 admire your floral treasures and makes sport of your U'eeds, as he 

 may choose to call them, do not feel vexed with him; only pity his 

 ignorance. He does not understand your beautiful plants, therefore 

 can not appreciate them. Indeed, some enthusiastic botanist has 

 said, " There are no weeds, except those grown in the mind of man." 



Each tree and plant has its own peculiar habit and growth — 

 each unfolding its bud after a different manner; and as we watch 

 these parts unfolding, or the little plants starting from the earth, we 

 involuntarily ask, By what wonderful, unseen power is this plant 

 brought into life? We can only answer that it is the expansion of 

 the seed germ, caused by light and heat and moisture. And beyond 

 this the mystery is as impenetrable as though the Divine fiat had 

 gone forth, "Thus far shalt thou go, and no further." Here we find 

 science as dumb as ignorance, for there can be no scientific answer 



