" Let us content ourselves no longer with being mere ' botanists ' — hiS' 

 torians of structural facts . The flowers are not mere comely or curious 

 vegetable creations, with colors, odors, petals, stamens and innumerable 

 technical attributes. The wonted insight alike of scientist, philosopher, 

 theologian, 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 longer a simple passive victim in the busy 

 bee's sweet pillage, but rather a conscious being, with hopes, aspirations 

 and companionships. The insect is its counterpart. Its fragrance is but 

 a petfumed 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 speeds its parting affinity, rests content that its 

 life's consummation has been fulfilled." — William Hamilton Gibson. 



