MY LADY DAHLIA 163 



The dahlia fancier is a man of a type. It may be that 

 you who read are one ; and if so, look down into your own 

 soul and discover why you consume so much interest on 

 so unresponsive a flower. The dahlia is splendid in vel- 

 vety texture, gorgeous colors, and construction, but its 

 elegance of dress, like that of so many dames we know, 

 has taken its all and forgotten its spirit. It is more of a 

 wallflower than the wallflower itself, standing aloof, giv- 

 ing nothing and taking much without a breath of per- 

 fume. This is whispered sub rosa; it is heresy in the ears 

 of dahlia enthusiasts walking in their gardens at this very 

 hour, yet they have their stings of disappointment, too, to 

 pray for our sympathy. They may be secretive in Spar- 

 tan reserve, but it hurts. 



Imagine a newly elected devotee in the early spring 

 dreaming of the beauty of all that he has seen in the 

 autumn and, with the illustrated catalogue, hoping for 

 royal successes in the summer before him. His tubers are 

 set, his seeds are planted, and he awaits the momentous 

 hour of opening buds. What are his emotions when he 

 beholds his supreme treasure of last year, that may be of 

 burnished gold, a "sport" of this season, the brilliant 

 fluted rosette marred by an unbecoming patch of common 

 red ! In his haste he may pull it up and throw it on the 

 ash heap, and then turn to the garden log book to 

 check up the descendants of 1907 in the column of 1908. 

 Then sign follows sign as more "freaks" enter the lists, 



