Let us then content ourselves no longer with 

 Deing mere '4)otanists" — historians of structural 

 facts. The flowers are not mere comely or curious 

 vegetable creations, with colors, odors, petals, sta- 

 mens, and innumerable technical attributes. The 

 wonted insio^ht alike of scientist, philosopher, the- 

 ologian, and dreamer is now repudiated in the new 

 revelation. Beauty is not " its own excuse for 

 being," nor was fragrance ever '' wasted on the desert 

 air." The seer has at last heard and interpreted the 

 voice in the wilderness. The flower is no lonofcr a 

 simple passive victim in the busy bee's sweet pillage, 

 but rather a conscious being, with hopes, aspi- 

 rations, and companionships. The insect is its 

 counterpart. Its fragrance is but a perfumed 

 whisper of welcome, its color is as the wooing 

 blush and rosy lip, its portals are decked for his 

 coming, and its sweet hospitalities humored to his 

 tarrying, and as it finally speeds its parting affinity, 

 it rests content that its life's consummation has been 

 fulfilled. 



William Hamilton Gibson. 



