580 



The Weekly Florists' Review. 



MARCH 3, 1S98. 



Before Taking. 

 ANNUAL DINNER OF THE NEW YORK FLORISTS' CLUB. 



And such a time as we put in up yonder 

 fn that fair moon, beyond the clouds and 

 thimder. 



The story it would take too long to tell: 

 Some othi-r time, perhaps, if all is well. 

 How Harry sought in vain for angels 



fair. 

 Because, you know, there are no women 



there. 



What were the boys all doing, did you 



say? 

 Well, doing always something, anyway. 

 Our old friend Plumb was president a 



while. 

 And ruhd his empire with the same old 



smile. 



And always eloquent, with pen and 



tongue. 

 His secretary still was good John Young. 

 A verdant vale was changed from a Sa- 

 hara, 

 By rampant, energetic P.at O'Mara. 



All up and down the sweetly scented 



way 

 The roses bloomed for genial John N. 



May; 

 And seldom is an orchid forest grander 

 Than one I saw in charge of Mr. Manda. 



The orange groves! Tou know the dear 



old "feller" 

 Who has sole charge. Who else but Papa 



Zeller? 

 Who for that wondrous stretch of palm 



land cares? 

 That jovial spirit must be Julius Roehrs. 



Azaleas brilliant glow with wondrous 

 light, 



And flowering say of Keller, "He's all 

 right!" 



Carnations sweet, how gloriously pro- 

 fuse! 



I guess you know the brothers Daille- 

 douze. 



But there time flies. I cannot name them 



all. 

 Not one is missing— Allen, Asmus, Small, 

 Names known to fame, Bennett and 



Childs and Dean — 

 The grandest galaxy I've ever seen! 



Here's De La Mare and Siebrecht, Dres- 



sel, Don — 

 No whiter souls did e'er the .sun shine on! 

 Ksler and Falconer and Robert Gray 

 Salute them as they pass in bright array. 



Hitchings and Henderson and Krick and 



Joosten, 

 How little need for men like these our 



boostin', 

 Jansen and Kelsey— surely of these we'll 



sing; 

 Lonsdale and Lang and Koffman Smilax 



King. 



McConnell and iMcGowan and McMahon, 

 McDonald, too— and match them if you 



can, 

 Millang and Morris, Pierson and David 



Mellis: 

 Did ever such fruit grow on an earthly 



trellis? 



Sutton and Schultheis, Rath and Louie 



Smutz, 

 I wonder if they ever shoot the chutes? 

 Elliott and Sheridan, and J. H. Troy, 

 And Brother Stewart, the brave Boston 

 boy! 



No end of them— you see they're passing 

 still: 



Ward and Suvdam, Weber and Under- 

 bill, 



Weir. White and Wallace— all of them 

 far from dead: 



Young. Leahy, Taylor, Charley Weath- 

 ered. 



Some day I'll tell you all about the rest. 

 They're all well settled there, among the 



blest. 

 And strange but true! grand harmony 



prevails 

 And friendship reigns! (This is no fairy 



tale.) 



Introducing the toast. "Our Night," 

 Mr. O'Mara paid a deserved tribute, 

 saying: "One of the first to put his 

 hand to the plow, and one of the last 

 ■who will take his hand from it; al- 

 ways ready at the call of duty, pre- 

 siding officer for a time, one of the 

 brightest stars we have; a grower, a 

 man and a gentleman. I will call upon 

 Mr. J. H. Taylor," who in reply said, 

 among other things; 



