92 STATE POMOLOGICAL SOCIETY. 



b;it it may have been the bright flowers he wore that'gave a roseate 

 tinge to his entire outfit. 



Arbor Day is another significant day, contemplating as it does 

 the planting of shade audoruaiueutal trees and seeking to create an 

 interest in tree planting and culture which may eventually lead to 

 the study of forestry. Our Maine forests have been unsparingly 

 sacrificed. 



I was pleased last summer to iiud in the town of Eustis on the 

 Dead River, a well kept pine grove, trees straight and beautiful. 

 It was small ; highways bordered it on three sides. In the pleasant 

 inquiries made by several individuals "Have you seen our pine 

 grove?" I read the pride of 3'oung and old in this bit of our former 

 glory as a Pine Tree State. 



"We are never too old to plant a tree. Whittier writes to a 

 friend : "I am sorry to find that the hard winter has destroyed some 

 handsome spruces I planted eight years ago, they had grown to be 

 fine trees. Though rather late for me, I shall plant others in their 

 places for I remember the advice of the old Laird of Dumfiedikes 

 to his son Jack, 'When ye hae neathing better to do ye can be aye 

 sticking in a tree, ifU aye be growing when ye are sleeping.'" 

 Whittier adds, "there is an ash tree growing here that my mother 

 planted with her own hands at three score and ten." 



It was a very happy thought to incorporate Arbor Day into our 

 school system — for w'hatever we would have blossom in the nation 

 we must plant in the schools. The trees chi'dren have i)lanted with 

 their own hands will ever after be to them objects of love and care. 

 Arbor Day may be made very helpful as an educator. No subject 

 Las called forth a more abundant literature, all its own, than 

 flowers. The greatest and best of earth have sung of them, "Con- 

 sider the lilies of the field how they grow." 



We have no more touching picture of Robert Burns than he 

 gives us, himself, in "To the Daisy " Seated upon his plow, 

 which he has stopped in the furrow, to pick up the little flower he 

 has unwittingly crushed, we hear him say : 



"Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 



Thou's met me iu an evil hour, 



For 1 maua crush among the stoure, 



Thj' slender stem. 

 To spare thee now is past my power, 



Thou bonny gem — " 



