42 ' STATE HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY. 



possesses a heretofore unfelt interest for me, while I feel, only wonder^ 

 wiih 80 many possible mishaps, there is ever a fall crop to find its way 

 to the city markets, which usually show an abundance. The motto 

 written all over the Englishman is pluck, and he rarely fails. 



But I am not to talk of fruit. Instructive papers have been read, 

 and an enormous stock of experimental station reports, books and 

 bulletins, which I have filed away with due respect in my house, can 

 doubtless be found in all your libraries containing more information 

 than I have ever dreamed of. It is Jack — that boy whose growth and 

 development means more to his father than all the orchards put to- 

 gether, which I shall endeavor to present to you tonight in the line of 

 your own study. 



Jack shall be a fruit tree, and whether he is good, bad or indiffer- 

 ent, dwarfed, mentally or morally, encouraging or not, he cannot be 

 pulled up and thrown over the fence. He is yours for a season of 

 years ; to make you or to break you ; to crown your name with laurels 

 and fame, possibly, or drag it in the dust of shame, and wring your 

 heart with agony. Oh! A nursery indeed, for whose output you are 

 responsible to God and to your country. 



I have heard of a penalty in iTew England attached to the offense 

 of scattering obnoxious weeds broadcast to spoil finely cultivated 

 fields. This, in human phraseology, is called roughing it when little 

 and sowing wild oats later, and small check is put upon it. 



Where is the interest felt in Jack that it might naturally manifest 

 itself in discussiion, comparison of experiences, and a finely written 

 articles? Must these be relegated entirely to the mothers clubs which 

 have sprung up in so many places? Is it a matter of sex and the 

 masculine mind above or below or beyond these matters of child cul- 

 ture, until it gets to be Dombey&Son? Can't he at least have the 

 breeding and solicitude of a fine-blooded animal? 



It is difiialt to realize the helpless infant who rules the house, the 

 stumbling boy who taxes our patience, the downy youth who knows it 

 all and ruffles our temper, and the broad-shouldered man who looks 

 calmly in our eyes and proclaims his freedom and individuality, are 

 one and the same. The ego is the same in each stage. The traits are 

 the same, modified and controlled as he has been taught to control 

 them. They are peculiarly his and mark him to the grave, like a ticket 

 stamped "Good for one trip only." A certain life was called a cipher, 

 but when its babe lay in the arms, God's finger had written the numeri- 

 cal value. Tis an algebraic equation where we prefix the signs by 

 our own training. L'ke the game, where we all start at nothing and 

 finish with some at a high score and others in the hole, as the saying 



