Summer Meeting. 37 



The grateful plants for which we toil often reward our ef- 

 forts by bursting forth into new and striking forms of beauty. 

 Florists have named these expressions of gratitude "sports." A 

 lover of nature was inquisitively peering about a wild rose bush. 

 To his delight he found a double rose, and his discovery led to 

 experiments which evolved our superb family of double roses. 



There was a time when every known climbing rose was either 

 yellow or white, but Mr. William Paul wished to see one of another 

 hue. To accomplish this, he mated the rose Athelin, of vivid crim- 

 son, with Russelliana, a hardy white climber, and a climbing rose 

 of beautiful pink stood revealed. 



The evolution of flowers from parent weeds is an interesting 

 study, but he who undertakes this branch of natural history will 

 meet many surprises; he will find that the kingdom of Flora is 

 not exempt from conflict, and that a survival of the fittest is only 

 made possible by conquest. How like unto our own is this lesser 

 world? Phases of life with which we are familiar in our sphere 

 may be found in the plant kingdom. In Flora's domain are the 

 preferred classes, the plebeians, the middle class, the anarchists, 

 the parasites, and a great slum element of weeds. 



Over this lesser world rules the same beneficent power that 

 guides and governs man. The Great Author of Life is apparently 

 no respecter of its manifestations. He considers the lily of the 

 field, sees the wounded sparrow fall, marks the decay of empires 

 and the passing of races with supreme carefulness. 



He created both the weeds and the flowers, and left to man- 

 kind the task of learning their value and their mission. Said an 

 old Devonshire gardener, "I'm always thinking what a little ju- 

 dicious cultivation would do for the weeds in our hearts," and I 

 often think if we could only understand the lessons taught by 

 nature, how much wiser, better and happier we should be. 



The world moves on and we are borne along 

 By forces which we cannot see nor understand ; 

 We hear faint echo of some distant deep-toned song, 

 And only know 'tis something strange and grand. 



The voices of the birds in songs of joy, or praise, 

 The incense of sweet flowers ascend to God each day ; 

 Should not we, too, fill out the measure of our days 

 In joyous praise? Yet not in idleness, or play. 



Working, we wait fulfillment of His plan ; 

 Hoping, we strive to feel His presence near; 

 Trusting His grace, we do the best we can. 

 Then meet the common fate of all, without one fear. 



