814 MY FRIEND THE ANDROMEDA. 



On these occasions I was apt, on very slight provocation, 

 to grow warm in praise of my andromeda. It was every- 

 thing that was lovely. The leaves were always shining and 

 gracefully curving. Bark and twigs were refined and 

 attractive in texture, coloring, and picturesque contour. In 

 every way this plant was full of beauty as pleasing as that 

 of its August flowers. Several sober, matter-of-fact friends 

 have, I know, smiled from time to time at my enthusiasm 

 on the subject of this andromeda. But what matters that? 

 It is only their loss that they are unable to see with my 

 eyes ; and, in one sense, my gain. The charms of a flower 

 are, to the possessor, rather increased than otherwise by the 

 sense that few people have the wit to appreciate them ; but 

 it is a little selfish, I know, to feel thus, although entirely 

 human, and I am trying to make my peace with conscience 

 by enlarging on the topic to-day. 



Truly, this brisk October morning, as I am dwelling on 

 the lovely crimson color of my favorite, bright with sunlight 

 and dew, and adorned with pendant seed vessels, I am dis- 

 posed to doubt whether my enthusiasm, in all its fulness, 

 has not been after all somewhat crude*, and unappreciative. 

 Notwithstanding its evident excellence, it occurs to me now 

 that this plant has beauty that is still greater than com- 

 monly appears, because it is so seldom suitably employed. 

 It is not, like your oak or beech, sufficient unto itself in its 

 isolated grandeur ; but it is a tree that needs association to 

 develop its highest possibilities of attraction. Like some 

 rich beauty, whose loveliness is stimulated and brought out 

 by the charms of other forms and faces, to pale again when 

 left alone or neglected ; or like the gifted and witty mind 



