232 MINNESOTA STATE HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY. 
tion of which may be possible on a practical work-a-day, but 
disturbs not the present delicious spell of mental inactivity. 
All alone—yet not alone—a sharp pointed pencil and paper of 
snowy whiteness for company. No one to speak, or to speak to. 
What wonderful ideas may not be drawn from the universal source! 
Just the moment for inspiration, but it cannot be forced. The mind 
must beina receptive condition,utterly devoid of personal thoughts, 
in fact of all thought, perfectly passive. All is in readiness; what 
willcome? The beautiful blue of the sky tempts many a winged 
creature to try the exhilerating effects of a strollinether; thereis no 
necessity for undue exertion today, and they wander dreamily about- 
How beautiful the scene that greets the half-closed eyes! The 
group of Norways at the left towering way above the house looks 
protectingly down, assuring immunity from danger of intrusion 
in that direction. The oaks at the right, with motherly branches ex- 
tending, a long way from the trunk, seem to urge the grateful shade of 
their foliage as free to the wearied toiler. The long branches of the 
weeping elm sway sleepily to and fro,and one of unusual length, 
carrying an oriole’s nest near the end, describes an arc of several 
feet, but moves so slowly and noddingly that the influence is conta- 
gious and the care-troubled mortal on the veranda slowly but surely 
succumbs, and the head, empty of thought and ideas in unison» 
swings gently to and fro. 
A passing zephyr whispers, “The Modern Woman,” and the inane 
mortal slowly nods in response. The bee, going slowly to and fro, 
in deference to the day, hummingly repeats the phrase and starts 
into life the thought, what isa “Modern Woman?” The first effort 
at solution is put to rest by wondering if the oriole will make a 
mis-step and fall in trying to reach the nest on its upward swing. 
The same breeze brings such a delicious, permeating fragrance 
from the rose-bed that the whole personality seems wrapped in it, 
and for the time being all consciousness seeins centered in the 
heart of a rose,and sweet communion is held with the power that 
makes such loveliness and sweetness possible. 
“In Horticulture!” laughingly sings out the robin. “In what?” 
calls the quail. The feathered tribe all at once are imbued with the 
power of speech and mortal woman is dumb in their presence 
Frequent repetitions bring the speakers no nearer to an under- 
standing,and the catbird, hidden in the evergreen hedge,an amused 
spectator of the scene, mockingly screams and bursts into rollick- 
ing bubbles of musical laughter that brings confusion to the dis- 
putants,and the misunderstanding is more pronounced. The 
brown thrush, sitting on the topmost twig of the tallest Norway, 
meditating on the beauties of nature, suddenly feels moved to 
plunge into the light wave of restlessness that rolls in from the far- 
away disturbance on theocean of activity and pours forth unlimited 
remonstrance and advice, and in fancy the ear not only hears but 
the eye sees the notes and words as they come tumbling down from 
that airy height and float around like thistle down, now here, now 
there, and causing no greater disturbance. His thoughts seem to 
follow the same course marked out by the robin and quail, for the 
