Dec. 15 1911 



judging fairly of facts, without which no 

 good or lasting work will be done, whether 

 in physical science, in politics, in philoso- 

 phy, in philology, or in history." 



"Take my advice for yourselves, dear 

 readers, and for children after you; for, be- 

 lieve me, I am showing you the way to true 

 and useful, and, therefore, to just and de- 

 served power. I am showing you the way 

 to become members of what I trust will be 

 —what I am sure ought to be— the aristoc- 

 racy of the future." 



Undoubtedly the influence of flowers up- 

 on the mental and moral development of 

 the human race has been both profound and 

 fiir-reaching. So intimately do they enter 

 into every phase of life, and so eloquently 

 do they express every emotion, that it was 

 long believed their bright colors, sweet 

 odors, and varied forms were created solely 

 for the benefit of man. We can not imagine 

 what this world would have been without 

 them, or estimate the enjoyment that would 

 have been lost, or the power for good that 

 would have been for ever missing; but we 

 know that humanity would have been less 

 perfect than it is to-day. And such a loss 

 is not inconceivable, for there are many 

 thousands of flowers which are small and 

 dull-colored; but, happily for us, the aesthet- 

 ic tastes of bees and butterflies have been 

 similar to our own. 

 That flowers act strongly upon the imag- 

 i ination is shown by the myths of the Greeks 

 ■ and the poetry of all nations. Even the 

 ruder songs of the primitive northern na- 

 tions, according to Humboldt, were influ- 

 enced by the forms of plants. Of the rela- 

 tions of flowers to humanity, the poet is the 

 true interpreter, not the man of science. 

 He alone, as Longfellow has said, is quali- 

 fied to unfold the bright and glorious revela- 

 tions and the wondrous and manifold truths 

 written in these stars of earth. 



And the poet, faithful and far-seeing. 

 Sees, alike In stars and flowers, a part 



Of the selfsame universal being 

 Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. 



Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues. 



Flaunting gaily in the light; 

 Large desires, with most uncertain issues, 



Tender wishes blossoming at night. 

 These in flowers and men are more than seeming; 



Workings are they of the selfsame powers 

 Which the poet in no idle dreaming 



Seeth in himself and in the flowers. 



In all places, then, and in all seasons, 

 Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, 



Teaching us by most persuasive reasons 

 How akin they are to human things. 



While an examination of the poetry which 

 has been written on flowers in all ages would 

 teach many valuable lessons, we must be 

 content to quote four verses from Leigh 

 Hunt's "The Songs of Flowers," in which 

 he surpasses all other poets in his descrip- 

 tion of the life of flowers and their re- 

 lation to humanity. From the point of 

 view of the naturalist this is the most re- 

 markable poem on flowers in any language, 

 "fathoming," says Hamilton W. jSIabie, 

 "the very soul of flowers." "No poet in 



751 



this nor in many a generation past has said 

 a sweeter or more haunting word for the 



flowers." 



We are the sweet flowers, 



Born of sunny showers; 

 Think, whene'er you see us, what beauty saith: 



Utterance mute and bright 



Of some unknown delight. 

 We fill the air with pleasure by our simple breath: 



All who see us love us; 



We befit all places; 

 Unto sorrow we give smiles, and graces unto graces. 



See, and scorn all duller taste. 



How Heaven loves color — 

 How great Nature clearly joys in red and green; 



What sweet thoughts she thinks 



Of violets and pinks. 

 And thousand flashing hues made only to be seen ! 



See her whitest lilies 



Chill the silver showers; 

 And what red mouth has her rose. 



The woman of the flowers! 



Think of all these treasures. 



Matchless works and pleasures. 

 Every one a marvel, more than thought can say; 



Then think in what lu'ight showers 



We thicken fields and bowers. 

 And with what heaps of sweetness half wanton May! 



Think of the mossy forests 



By the bee-birds haunted. 

 And all those Amazonian plains. 



Lone lying as enchanted. 



Who shall say that flowers 



Dress not heaven's own bowers? 

 Who its love, without them, can fancy — or its floor? 



Who shall even dare 



To say we sprang not there. 

 And came not down that love might bring 



One piece of heaven the more ? 



Oh! pray believe that angels 



From those blue dominions 

 Brought us in their white laps down. 



Between their golden pinions. 



Waldoboro, Me. 



BEE-KEEPING ON THE APPALACHICOLA RIV- 

 ER, FLORIDA. 



Something about a Small Area in Northwestern 

 Florida that has Produced as High as 1900 Bar- 

 rels of Honey in One Season; a Visit to A. B. 

 Marchant. 



BY E. R. ROOT. 



During the early part of last season I pre- 

 pared two or three articles on Florida; but 

 as it was nearing the time of year when 

 most northern people were leaving the State, 

 I decided to hold them over. To-day I pro- 

 pose to tell you the story of the wonderful 

 tupelo regions along the Appalachicola Riv- 

 er, in Northwestern Florida. Wonderful to 

 relate, there has actually been produced 

 nearly 2000 barrels of honey, each contain- 

 ing from 300 to 500 lbs., along the shores of 

 that remarkable river, covering a distance 

 of not over 100 miles, and perhaps a mile or 

 a mile and a half on each side of the stream. 



One of the pioneer bee-keepers in that re- 

 gion is Mr. A. B. Marchant, of Sumatra, 

 Fla. His ])ostoflfice was formerly Marchant's 

 Landing, for be it known that Mr. Mar- 

 chant's bee operations were so extensive that 

 he has a landing on that river where boats- 

 stop; and if you will look on the map you 

 will still see Marchant's Landing. You pev- 

 haps will understand why steamers stoi> 

 here if you will look at a photo showing a. 



