322 STATE HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY. 



While trav'ling o'er the prairies wide, 



We see along the highway side 



Poor beggars ranged ; though not a word 



They utter, yet our hearts are stirred 



With tales they tell ; in mute despair 



They lift their shattered arms in air, 



And tell of ills which they have known, 



Of scathing blasts so often blown ; 



Of piercing cold, of dearth and flood, 



Which chill, or dry, or taint, their blood. 



Their mangled trunks and broken limbs 



A sight present which well-nigh dims 



Our eyes with sympathetic tears ; 



For sweet Pomona, many years 



Hath nurtured with unsparing hand 



These once fair products of the land , 



Which now stand stark and almost bare 



Of the rich dress they used to wear. 



The luscious fruit they yearly bore, 



Is found not now as 'twas of yore. 



" Now listen to our final call ; 



We speak to farmers, one and all, 



In these terse, emphatic words : 



Plant evergreens to shield your herds, 



Tour orchards and your homes from cold ; 



These beauteous trees outweigh your gold, 



Enhance your pleasures every year, 



And when the close of life draws near, 



Your children's gratitude will till 



Your hearts with the prophetic ' Peace, good will.' "—A. M. N 



But perhaps my paper, already too long, may fail of its end if we 

 leave out of our minds the great moving power behind all this plant- 

 ing. The love of the horticulturist for this continual planting ha& 

 been the moving power in all this work, and we find their hand-marks on 

 all sids ; in our nurseries, our gardens, our yards, our orchards, our 

 streets, our parks, our public grounds, our school-yards, and, as this 

 power of the horticulturist grows, so we will see our Arbor day plant- 

 ings grow. All honor, then, to the lover of tree-growth and tree- 

 planting, the true horticulturist. L. A. Goodman. 



