336 Wisconsin" State Horticultural Society. 



poor dwarfed and crippled body, and it seemed to me there was 

 only one deformity in all the world worth deploring, and that, de- 

 formity of soul. As to the body, that might be transfigured. And 

 here a" stanza of dear Mrs. Howe's Battle-hymn of the Republic 

 came singing in my heart: 



" la the beauty of the lilies, Christ was born across the sea, 

 . "With a glory in his bos m that transfigures you and me." 



It was in the latter part of the month of September, but I found 

 a calla bearing magnificent leaves, one great, white, perfect chalice 

 and two buds. Would the little man sell it? I scarcely thought 

 he would, but finally summoned the courage to ask him. Yes, I 

 might have it for a dollar; he had several others in the other room 

 as fine as that. I bought it eagerly and was too over-glad to ask 

 the secret of this September blossoming. The next day, the great 

 day of the feast, my lily stood in the very centre of a large table 

 laden with brilliant gifts, and looked more regal than they all. I 

 was not ashamed of my wedding present, and as 1 turned my eyes 

 from gold and jewels up to this queen lily of Flora's realm, I thought 

 truly "•Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." 



If I ever see the little botanist of S street, I shall find out how 



to make callas blossom in every month of the year, for I am sure 

 he knows. He has what the Germans call " Zeitgeist." He sees 

 into the very heart of things, and like Carlyle's " Teufelsdrocke ' r 

 with his quick tympanum hears the grasses grow. The pretty se- 

 quel to my story is that my wedding present has a namesake, an 

 honor which none of the costlier gifts have won. The happy 

 couple have named their baby daughter Lily, after my flower. 



It is always appropriate to close a romance with the murder of 

 your hero, the marriage of your happy couple, or the birth of their 

 first child; but I propose to spin my story out long enough to tell 

 you that this is not the story that I set out to tell in the beginning. 

 I thought to say a little about calla lilies, then, because I knew so 

 little to say; I hoped to mask that little by a brief account of a 

 noble hearted mother whom I know, living in the midst of her lit- 

 tle children, in the eastern part of my own state, just where the 

 Pennsylvania mountains reach across the line to clasp hands with 

 Ohio hills. This true gentlewoman, through the influence of flow- 

 ers and the thirst for knowledge which their culture brings, has 



