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THE GARDENERS' CHRONICLE OF AMERICA. 



inate this love of the beautiful, and cultivate it in the com- 

 ing generations. The gardener is naturally endowed to 

 create and improve on nature, and is, therefore, in a posi- 

 tion to cultivate and instruct, and by this means is me- 

 dium through which the improvement of man's love and 

 ideas are enlarged, and the increased cultivation of flow- 

 ers is encouraged, and new loves created. Thus the florist 

 gardener is not only the instructor, but the creator of new 

 loves and new ideas, and, also, new lovers of nature's 

 sweetest creation — flowers. Thus I hold, the profession 

 of gardeners is one of the noblest that tames the intellect 

 of man. 



Rome had its Cresar, to whom all nations bowed and 

 paid tribute to his power, yet in all his might and maj- 

 esty he could not raise a single flower. England had 

 her William the Conqueror, and France her Napoleon, 

 but with all their knowledge and power they could not 

 propogate a single bud. America had her Washington, 

 than whom the world has seen no greater general, yet 

 he, like all the rest, was ignorant of what he loved the 

 most — the cultivation of the flower. Go with me if 

 you will into the church where tapers burn and vestal 

 choristers sing their hallelujahs to the first gardener 

 and Creator, the great Jehovah, and what is the first 

 tribute we lay upon the holy shrine? Sweet flowers, 

 emblematic of Christ's purity and love. Follow me to 

 the festal wedding, and what do we behold? The 

 same tribute to this holy and sacred office — flowers. 

 Go further with me to the homes of the dead, who 

 sleep their long sleep in their tents of green, and what 

 do we see? The same loving tribute — flowers. And 

 so on, through all the phases of life; in joy or in sor- 

 row; in darkness or in sunshine: the one great monitor 

 that speaks our love and our grief, our sadness or our 

 pleasure, is the same sweet creation of the gardener's 

 handiwork — flowers. 



This love of the beautiful opens every da}' a wider 

 and more useful field for the gardener. The flower is 

 not a simple fad to be cultivated for a few days and 

 then cast aside. They were on earth when the sons of 

 morning sang together ; they will gladden the eye un- 

 til the resurrection. Thus the gardener is the happy 

 instrument through which this love of flowers is per- 

 petuated. 



I^ractical men are made poetic by the beauty which 

 is about them, and this love for the flowers grows upon 

 them and is transmitted to their children. Hence 

 societies are formed, and the gardeners vie with each 

 other to create new and beautiful ideas in the cultiva- 

 tion of flowers. Witness the constant rivalry for su- 

 premac}' at the flower shows throughout our land. 

 The struggle for prizes as a reward and recognition 

 of their efforts. The cynic will say : "Of what use 

 are they?" "What do they bring?" "What are they 

 worth?" "What is a ribbon worth to a soldier?" High 

 thoughts, bright dreams, the ambition to create and 

 improve. 



It is the desire of every true gardener to succeed, 

 and every success brings a betterment of his condition. 

 It does not come without care and thought. Before 

 anyone can be an artist in his art, he must first be a 

 workman at his trade, and it is only by giving close 

 attention to this diversified and comprehensive study 

 that these possibilities are acquired. Thus many men 

 are florists, but the want of thoroughness in their early 

 studies is always apparent. This thought should be 



an incentive to stimulate the gardener to renewed ef- 

 forts for the mastery of his profession. 



Every great epoch in the history of the world brings 

 with it a usefulness for flowers. Let me cite one ex- 

 ample, the conflict between the North and the South. 

 When the war was over, in the South, where, under 

 warmer skies and more poetic temperament, symbols 

 and emblems are better understood than in the prac- 

 tical North, the mothers, widows and children of the 

 confederate dead went out to decorate the graves of 

 the fallen. With what? Was it with gun and sabre? 

 No. Was it with insignia of heraldry? No. With 

 what, then? With simple flowers, casting them, un- 

 consciously, alike upon the unmarked resting places 

 of the federal and confederate dead. Oh, what a 

 revolution of feeling did this create in the hearts of 

 the people of the North. It aroused feelings of amity 

 and friendship. It allayed sectional animosity, and it 

 gave birth to a general day of decoration. And what 

 has been the benefit to florists? Hundreds and thou- 

 sands of gardeners are employed throughout the 

 length and breadth of our land, engaged in the cultivation 

 of these beautiful gems, that our honored dead may sleep 

 beneath a wilderness of flowers. 



Flowers, sweet flowers, they will ever continue to 

 play their part; will bring joy to the sorrowful; happi- 

 ness to the afflicted. They will gladden the heart of 

 the bride; they will be sweet emblems of love to the 

 departed. They are indigenous to all climes : on the 

 summit of the snow-clad hills, greeting the first sun of 

 the early morn ; in the wild wood where the foot of 

 man has never trod. They are in all homes and 

 places. There is not in the history of the world one 

 other creation that bears the same relationship to all 

 our moods ; that expresses our thoughts ; that con- 

 veys the echo of our hearts ; that has the same in- 

 fluence upon society ; that enriches, ennobles, and culti- 

 vates the good within us, as this noble effort of the 

 gardener's handiwork — flowers. 



GOD DIRECTS. 



E. S. Knowles. 



Whether the flower grow fast or slow. 



\\'hetlier the rain be falling 

 Or on its petals the sunbeams glow 



When the south wind is calling ; 

 Whether the dew bathe its tender face. 



Or a chill breeze be blowing. 

 Through a divine, eternal grace 



God hath directed its growing. 



Whether the mellow fields of grain 



-Smile in the August dawning ; 

 ^^'hether the grasses in meadow or plain 



Scatter sweet incense each morning, 

 \\'hether they send forth a tender flower, 



Or be swept away in the mowing. 

 Every day. every passing hour 



God hath directed the growing. 



.■\h. little one! child of Love divine. 



Whether the tempest be raging 

 Or the clear light of Love doth shine, 



.Sorrow and dark assuaging: 

 Whether thy path be low or high. 



If faithful hath been thy sowing. 

 Thou shalt bring forth abundantly. 



For God directeth the growing. 



— From C. S. Sentinel. 



