flower, for all the world like some dear little 



E GARDEN . , f , . . . , . . , . 



old-iashioned lady, is so universally prized: 



Is it not for about the same reason that we love 

 the dear little old-fashioned lady? This flower 

 seems to speak to every heart. Just what it 

 tells me I am as unable to put into fit words as 

 I am worthily to tell the influence which the 

 dear little old-fashioned lady has upon me. 

 Its clinging perfume is like that of a sweet life 

 lived among us. That, I think, is the secret of 

 its charm. 



The Poppy is to me, like the Evening Prim- 

 rose, a flower of mystery. Men have had many 

 beautiful thoughts about it, and I have had 

 mine. Its sunny face, like a cup filled with 

 light, is as open as a child's heart, but its 

 drooping, sleepy buds seem always to be hold- 

 ing back something. The Poppy fascinates me. 

 It must be the hypnotist of the garden. Its 

 seeds bring sleep. 



The Rose! Emerson tells us that the Rose 

 speaks all languages. True aristocrat the Rose 

 is, telling of gentle blood and good breeding, 



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