14 



HOME AND FLOWERS 



afford you — not 3'onr neighbor. You will 

 notice that I use the term "pleasure." 

 In doing so, I am go-verned by the belief 

 that no one but a real flower-lover gets 

 an}' pleasure out of such an attempt. 

 Those who would have flowers because it 

 is the fashion to have them, may exper- 

 ience a sort of satisfaction in their 

 possession, but this is a feeling utterly 

 unlike the true pleasure known to those 

 who grow flowers out of love for them. 



^ ^ 



I am not a believer in a "knack'' of 

 flower-growing, in the sense that some 

 are born with a special ability in that line. 

 We often hear it said, "flowers will grow 

 for such and such a person if she just 

 loohs at them/' From this we get the 



idea that some persons have the ability to 

 grow flowers without any effort. All this 

 is wrong. Those who succee^d, all have the 

 same "knack," and it is nothing more or 

 less than intelligent care. Some may 

 acquire it easier and sooner than- others, 

 but anyone can have it by studying their 

 plants. When yo.u do things, watch the 

 effect — note the differences that exist. 

 In short, keep yo.ur e3^es open. Don't 

 let the mistaken idea that successful plant- 

 growing depends on any special "knack" 

 that comes without observation, mislead 

 you. All the "knack" needed is the lik- 

 ing for flowers, and a de'sire to understand 

 how you may best meet their special 

 needs. The iviU to succeed will find out 

 the way to achieve that result. 



ASKED OF THE DEAD 



By Eh en E. Rex ford 



One who was lonely and longing for love 

 Knelt down in the grasses a low grave above, 

 The summer-wind listened to hear what he said, 

 And these are the questions he asked of the 

 dead: 



"Under the sod, darling, say— can you see 

 How the rose and the pimpernel blow for the 

 bee? 



Tell me the mystery shutting you in— 

 Where does this world end and God's world be- 

 gin? 



"Often I wonder if the dead ever know 

 How o'er their low, green beds days come and 

 go. 



J)o the dead know, darling, life's good or ill, 

 Besting so peacefully here on the hill? 



"Do the old longings stir under the sod, 

 Or has the soul only a knowledge of God 

 And the peace and the gladness those only can 

 know 



Over whose folded hands grave-grasses grow? 



"When by your side, darling, touched with God's 



peace, 



Finding from sorrow an endless release, 



They lay me down under earth's blossoms or 

 snow 



To find out the secrets the dead only know — 

 "Call to me, darling, and I who have died 

 Will answer the summons aud creep to your side, 

 And your clasp and your kisses shall welcome 

 me in 



To the death that is life, free from sorrow and 

 sin. 



"Love, do you hear me? Or are those who die 

 Deaf to the voices of old where they lie? 

 Speak in the blossoms that grow o'er your 

 head— 



Let them be messengers, dear, for the dead. 

 If you love me, and hear me, the same as of 

 old. 



By the lips of the violets let it be told." 



Lo ! he was answered, for broke into bloom 

 Many blue violets over her tomb. 

 He knew that she heard him tho' over her face 

 The grass spread its curtain filmy-spun lace. 

 Yes, he knew she remembered ! True love can- 

 not die. 



And he said, as he lifted his face to the sky— 

 "Thank God for the message these flowers have 

 giv'n — 



This grave w^here I kneel is the threshold of 

 Heav'n." 



