424 



UB R O SA . 



ject and do all they could to assist in carrying it out." 



Ft 'oiii (7. . l^ilIicD'd^ Pvt'sidt'ltt Cider tutd Cidt'r l^iii- 

 egar Makers' Association of the Northuiest : "We are dis- 

 posed to look upon the project favorably, and shall be 

 pleased to do what we can to make the congress a suc- 

 cess. We have intended to move in some way, to bring 

 the subject of cider and vinegar-making more promi- 

 nently before the people at the World's Fair." 



J'loii! A. J. Rider, Secretary A/iierican Cranberry Grow- 

 ers' Association : "I see no objection whatever to the 

 holding of the meeting of American Cranberry Grow- 

 ers' Association in connection with the proposed Inter- 

 national Horticultural Congress. We are looking for- 

 u'ard to the time in the cranberry business when a for- 

 eign market for cranberries will be of great advantage, 

 and it would seem that in a congress of this kind some 

 public notice at least would be attracted." 



* * 



THE LOVE of nature ! Who has felt it ? All 

 have read of it, ail know of it, many of us 

 have sung of it. But how many of us feel 

 it in the same manner as we feel the blood in our 

 veins, or the thrill of life in our nerves ? How 

 many of us live in that sympathy with the out-of- 

 doors which imbibes inspiration from the meadows 

 and the trees ? We suspect that much of this 

 vaunted love of nature is little more than strenuous 

 resolution. We work ourselves into a rapture while 

 yet we sit in our study, or, perhaps, it is oftener an 

 overpowering awe or admiration for grandness, as 

 of a mountain or the ocean. But love is not con- 

 jured up nor experienced afar off. It is borne of a 

 sweetness and restfulness and sympathy of temper 

 which always finds interesting company. Nature is 

 near at hand. Here is a bit of green sward, shorn 

 and tidy, a mere patch inside stone walks. But it 

 is a most coquettish bit. Every hour it is different. 

 Now it is gloomy, overcast like a leaden sky. A 

 moment later it smiles like a ripple of sunlight, and 

 the birds sing and the bees himi. Again it is rest- 

 ful, like the droning of a sleepy breeze. This 

 morning it awoke with a burst of laughter ; yester- 

 day it lay all the morning in tears and the spiders 

 spun their crape over it. The bushes bent low to 

 it, in sympathy. Later it was rollicking in a frisk- 

 ful breeze, and before noon it was in a flurry of 

 scudding leaves. 



* * 

 * 



THIS IS ALL sentiment, you say ? Perhaps 

 so. It matters not what you call it, so long 

 as it eases the burdens of life and makes one 

 happier. Who cares to li\'e when he cannot be 

 happy ? Of course one cannot subsist on it. He 

 must have bread. But the bread has the same sen- 



timent in it. The beans and corn and tomatoes 

 somehow behave in the same manner as that bit of 

 green sward. But they are even more interesting, 

 for each plant has an individuality, and they are all 

 a part of the earth, and the winds and the sunshine 

 and the dews and the rains. In the cool morning 

 one loves to see them awakening ; at noon they are 

 glowing, and at evening they are quiet in the long 

 shadows and the fading light. Somehow there 

 seems to be no difference between birds and winds 

 and plants and sunshine ! The odors of the freshly 

 turned soil and of the tomato vines are in some way 

 a part of the same fabric. And the rustle of leaves 

 and songs of birds and patter of rain are all from 

 the same melody. And the clouds come near to 

 one. Then the mind opens and is inspired, and 

 the true love of nature and reverence for nature's 

 God have an abiding place in our hearts. 



* * 



X 



YES, THIS may be sentiment; but sweet sen- 

 timent means contentment and health. And 

 if there were more of it on our farms and 

 in the gardens there would be fewer tired farmers 

 and gardeners. There seems to be a systematic 

 effort among farmers to crush out this love of 

 nature because it is thought to be unprofitable ; 

 and forthwith the spirit is crushed out of the boys 

 and girls. It is the absurdest notion, that appre- 

 ciation of nature can in any way conflict with the 

 tilling of the soil ! One does not need to stop his 

 work in order to admire his environments. Nature 

 speaks while he labors, and the love of it flows into 

 his life as the sunshine falls into the flowers. It 

 runs as a golden thread throughout the fabric of 

 life. And there is no reason why it should make 

 the potatoes less productive or should interfere 

 with the price of strawberries. But the lack of it 



has made the farmer the least appreciative of men. 



* * 



* 



ALL THIS fineness of feeling is not borne of 

 knowledge. Facts intensify it and sometimes 

 give it substance, but they do not give it birth. 

 But education is the mother of it, whether the edu- 

 cation is college-bred or home-spun. Education is 

 culture of mind and heart ; knowledge is mere 

 filling. Yet the two are commonly confounded ; 

 in fact, they are thought to be one. So the farmer 

 sends his son to college and expects him to learn 

 only practical facts — and by practical he means dol- 

 lars ! Perchance the boy imbibes the germs of edu- 

 cation, and then the farm may become distasteful 

 because his feelings have outgrown its narrowness. 

 But he still has a farm in his mind's eye — an ideal 



