94 MINNESOTA STATE HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY. 
MINNEAPOLIS, MINN., Dec. 5, 1891. 
Mr. A. W. Latham, Secretary Horticultural Society: 
My DEAR Str: President Elliot requested me to furnish some hort - 
cultural literature te present before the meeting of the society at Owa- 
tonna this winter. ; 
I love the society, and my heart is with you all; but my age admonishes 
me that iy work is done, and that I should retire from active duties. So, 
likely, I shall not be able to be with you at that time. 
Having nothing new to communicate, either in theory or in practice, I 
am left with no alternative but to fall back upon the glorious memories 
of the past. Mr. Elliot assigned me a subject to enlarge upon, but I 
have not the ability to handle it. I believe it is the common practice 
with nurserymen, when they have not the stock in hand to fill out an 
order, to substitute something equally good. It gives me great pleasure 
to avail myself of this privilege. My little piece is dedicated to the Min- 
nesota State Horticultural Society, and is entitled ‘‘Long Ago.” 
Yours truly, J. T. GRIMES. , 
LONG AGO. 
J. T. GRIMES, MINNEAPOLIS. 
In long ago. when Time was young, 
Some fanatics, (twas said or sung) 
In horticulture “ganged agee,” 
Like possums up a ’simmon tree, 
With nothing more or less to do, 
Than pluck the fruit that nature grew. 
Some tree peddlers, with smiling looks, 
Came fruitin’ round with picture books 
And trees to sell—who’d have us know 
Just what to plang, and how to grow. 
“The good die young.” alas! ’tis told; 
It was a sell, and we are sold. 
Then Harris said *twould never do 
To man our boat with such a crew 
Of scalawags of foreign mien; 
A fraud! Atramp! A go-between! 
We've crabs enough for ail our needs, 
And Gideon was plantin’ seeds. 
In long ago, I know it well, 
We formed our plans. and thousands tell 
Of blessings strewn from door to door, 
While we, ourselves, were growing poor, 
Without support—but why complain? 
We'll meet, and vote to each a cane. 
CONCLUSION. 
Successes few, and failures by the score. 
The isothermal lines could we explore, 
And learn the cause of sunscald, blight, disease, 
And all the ills that most affect our trees: 
From heat or cold, from sunshine, ice or snow, 
We know the fact, and yet we do not know, 
Who says we’re wise? to follow on.—or brave?— 
Until our heads have blossomed for the grave, 
And we, transplante d to a better clime, 
Where Eden blooms in all her pristine prime, 
Where every tree shall yiel@ her fruit.—and so, 
We all shall meet,—old friends of long ago. 
