STATE POMOLCJgICAL SOCIETY. 51 



face and its natural complexion is best set off by its own natural 

 hair, and as no dress can be more becoming than the one which will 

 best harmonize with the hair and e3-es of its wearer, sO a flower can 

 be accompanied with no tint better suited to grace its stem than ita 

 own natural leaves, and we are thankful to say that the time has 

 long since passed when it was considered necessary to strip a plant 

 of its leaves and conceal its stems, to make its blossoms presentable. 

 Let a person who has never studied true coloring, and who looks 

 upon the "hanging forests," the wide-spread meadows with their 

 hillocks and velvety dales, rich in their varied lights and shades, as 

 one mass of one color, naraeh', green — a composition of blue and 

 yellow — I sa}', let such a person attempt to form an harmonious 

 arrangement of the various leaves without flowers, he would find it no 

 eas}' task. There are nearh' as many shades of green as of flowers, 

 and a proper blending of the shades of green requires taste and 

 experience. 



Allow me to illustrate the absurdity once called a bouquet b}' a 

 short story : 



John has loved his Eliza from his earliest recollections and Eliza 

 loved her John with equal fervency. But a stone wall divided the 

 broad fields of their sires ; but Eliza was miles away at the time to 

 which we are referring upon a visit. As John in his loneliness, 

 caused by the absence of his Eliza, walked around the farm and 

 among the flower beds, gorgeous to John on account of the number 

 of plants huddled into each, and as is said of the crazy silk patch- 

 work quilts "no two alike," he paused before the "crazy" colored 

 strip beneath the front windows and mused aloud, "If women could 

 get that coloring into their rugs they'd be beauties !" But just now 

 a happy thought occurs to the warm-hearted John. "I will send 

 Lize some flowers, — flowers? Yes, a regular buih: bowkay." To 

 think, for .John, was to act, and in preparation for the building 

 (already a massive, brilliant structure arose before his mental vision) , 

 he cut flowers of every hue, size and shape, throwing them in a 

 promiscuous heap upon the stoop, which ran along the front of the 

 porch. After having, in this manner, collected, as he termed it, a 

 "cart-load" of flowers, he proceeded to divest each individual blossom 

 of its natural habiliments. Not a leaf would he allow to remain. 

 The pure, chaste flower-faces seemed in vain to look up and plead for 

 their rightful gowns of tender green, but the practical John said, 

 "A bowkay of posies wouldn't be a bowkay if 'twas stuck full of 



