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MINNESOTA SUMMER MEETING, 1895. 229 
Apples in those days were not like ours. They had no Wealthys or 
Jonathans. There were the apples of Hesperides, but they were a 
kind of orange. They cultivated olives. The olives of Palestine, of 
Syria, of Spain, all have a history. 
Coming down to our country, we see how slowly things develop, 
yet every year we see a wonderful improvement. Things are grow- 
ing better, sweeter, larger. In fifty years I don’t know where we will 
land, but I presume we shall be a great deal happier than we are 
now in the products of our gardens and our orchards. 
The next on the program was the rendering of a poem, ‘‘The 
Dignity of Labor,” by Miss Dixie Smith, which was given with 
rare expression and was much appreciated. 
Mr. J. T. Grimes was appropriately called upon to respond 
to the toast ‘‘Horticulture from the Standpoint of a Veteran.”’ 
He began by saying that as veteran means ‘‘something old,” 
he supposed he would answer. He drew a manuscript from 
his pocket from which he read as follows: 
Ladies and Gentlemen: I am expected to make a few im- 
promptu remarks, and being taken by surprise, of course you can- 
not expect much at my hands. 
What do I know about horticulture from the standpoint of a 
veteran? Veteran, I suppose, means old and worn-out, and in that 
respect Iam able to fill the bill. I might as well state before I be- 
gin that “I was borned in the Old D’minion, right dare among de 
niggers, but was fotched up among de white folks, and know’d 
some of de fust families berry well.” They always wore seedy hats 
and manifested a general appearance of that sort, talked politics 
exclusively and knew but little else. 
We had no horticultural societies then; they are all creatures of a 
later yrowth. Our fruits were all seedlings, and no one supposed 
that we could improve on nature. 
We now claim that some of our best fruits have originated from 
sports widely different from the parent tree. All the sports we 
knew anything about at that time were our fast young men. If one 
tree happened to bear better fruit than the other, all the boys in 
the neighborhood knew about it, and the owner must be content 
with what he could get. Hence, he did not care to improve his 
fruits—not even for the sake of the boys. 
I was there, and I know we used to have glorious times at the ap- 
ple parings which were held around in the neighborhood, and 
where each boy paired off with his best girl, or at least tried to. We 
had no such thing as fruit dryers then; the sun did the business 
with the assistance of the flies, the bees and the bugs. The fruit 
was placed upon scaffolds out of doors, or hung on strings about 
the old fire place. Pumpkins were sliced and strung up in the 
same manner to dry, and such delicious pies Auntie could make! 
Auntie, you understand, was nota real name, but meant par excel- 
lence, and denotes the highest degree of honor bestowed upon the 
darkey cook. 
