' \\\ \/^ 



3 



V 



V 





can say. Lydia of Thyatira had no more gorgeous colours 

 in all her busy dye-house\^ vs, N^ \ \-^ \ ^ 



Only a poor mean portion of the wonders of poesy dedi- 

 cated to this princess of flowers can we tell, — a wealth of, 

 romance reaching from the darkest days of barbarity and, 

 heathendom down to the last damp sheet of the morning 

 paper. If we had in our charge the sacred alms-bowl of 

 Buddha could we crowd all of the lilies of which stories are 

 told into it? I suppose it would depend upon the spirit of th 

 offering. Do you remember the sacred alms-bowl of Buddha ? 

 Endless tales are told in India and Thibet of this mysterious 

 wonder-worker. Should a thief try to steal it, as rash men 

 have, it grows so heavy that ten elephants cannot move it. 

 Into it the rich may pom* their offerings from early morning 

 until dewy eve without nearing the brim, but should a poor 

 wayfarer, worn and hungry, cast a few flowers within, im- 

 mediately it overflows with plenteousness, raining benedic- 

 tions on the giver. How would you like Buddha's alms-bowl 

 as an ornament for your garden? 



But the days are all too short, the tales all too many and 

 one must give pause, for "eternity gives nothing back of the 

 minute that has struck." Where however in all of the tomes 

 of lore could we find advice more delightful to the lover of 

 nature and natiure's favourites than the behest of Israel's 

 mightiest king, I \ \ I | jf yf 



" To feed in the gardens, and to gather lilies." 



