STATE POMOLOGICAL SOCIETY. 57 



of our little children, is a resource we should not slight. Then, will 

 any of us refuse to give in-door room and out-door room to these 

 beautiful plants and blossoms that God gave 



"■To comfort man, — to whisper hope, 

 Wliene'er his faith is dim, 

 For whoso careth for the flowers 

 Will care much more for Hiui" ! 



By birthright a little child loves bright things, — color, light, sun- 

 shine and gay flowers. How the little busy-bodies love to toddle 

 round mamma's flower beds, snapping off the bright blossom heads 

 till their aprons will hold no more, or till they are discovered in their 

 mischief. How their sweet baby faces dimple with smiles, and the 

 wee, dainty hands eagerly outstretch for the proffered gay blossom ! 

 What a pity to make of such beauty-loving little folks prosy, short- 

 sighted men and women whose thoughts have grown so fearfully 

 practical, that the sunshine to them means only so much growth or 

 curing of their crops, and "daises and buttercups, sweet-wagging 

 cowslips" and ''brave marsh Mary-buds, rich and yellow" that star 

 their meadows with golden blossoms, simply as desirable feed for 

 their cows, whose "baitings thereon will insure gilt-edged butter!" 



Snubbing, cramping and crushing every timid or brave effort that 

 the children may make to bring a little beauty into their bare homes, 

 may kill out, in time, the desire for anything outside the hard old ruts 

 in which their fathers travelled so long. How much wiser to encour- 

 age everything in our children that tends to fill the busy brain with 

 pure thoughts and so head off those that are bad ! The culture of 

 flowers will help. The sunnier, the happier our childhood's home, 

 the stronger its influence for good over our after life. Do you believe 

 the grown-up children, out in the world for themselves, will stray 

 very far from their mother's teachings, when the sight or fi'agrauce of 

 flowers like hers cause a rush of memories so sweet and precious, 

 there is a longing for home and her presence? 



"I never see a bed of the lilies of the valley, or smell the breath 

 of their spicy white bells," eaid a grey-bearded man who had made 

 his home in a foreign clime, "but that I am carried back to my boy- 

 hood's home, with its plot of sweet lily sprays by the door, and mem- 

 ories of mother, her wise counsels, come fresh in mind, though she 

 has been in Heaven this fifty years." 



Knowing this, that every green cutting, or flower bulb or root that 

 we may send out into the world, or give culture in our own home, 



