316 
THE LADIES’ FLORAL CABINET. 
character, not chattels, that makes a man rich. The true 
beauty of a flower is not the flower we see with its per¬ 
fect form, exquisite color and delightful fragrance ; these 
reach the senses only. It is the influence that evolves 
from our understanding of the flower, the wisdom and 
goodness that called it into existence, and its uses in the 
economy of nature. It is not the Cypripedium Morgan- 
ianum that nestles in the lap of the wealthy, and com¬ 
mands an exorbitant price because of its rarity, that is 
beautiful. A miserable cur would bring as high a price 
in the market if there were no other curs. It is the little 
violet that emits such a delightful fragrance when we 
carelessly trample it under foot that is truly beautiful. 
Like that elegant Aga couplet, which pronounces the 
duty of a good man “ not only to consist in pardoning, 
but also in benefiting his enemies, as the sandal-tree, at 
the moment of its overthrow, sheds the sweetest perfume 
on the axe that fells it.” 
To judge flowers and plants correctly, to inventory 
them for what they are worth, one must occupy a po¬ 
sition midway between the scientific botanist and the 
practical gardener. The former—the man of thought, 
the inquisitive mind—is too eager in search of facts in 
regard to structure, or possibly in tracing up the origin 
of the plant, to appreciate its real beauty, which evolves 
from the emotive rather than the reasoning faculties. 
The practical gardener, on the other hand, is too me¬ 
chanical in his operations and too much absorbed in his 
efforts for display in the effects that the various styles of 
planting will produce. He does not encourage a natural 
form, which is the only perfect one, and the only way a 
plant can be seen in its integrity. He takes a collection 
of plants and robs them of every attribute except one, in 
order that he may form an unbroken line of color, or 
combinations of color, which he designates a ribbon bor¬ 
der. This style of gardening is attractive in the same 
sense that a garden fence would be if painted in stripes 
of primitive colors; it is simply noticeable, not beautiful. 
A horse mutilated in mane and tail is noticeable, but not 
beautiful; it symbolizes the “ ring ” rather than the ly- 
ceum—the lower rather than the higher feelings of man’s 
nature. He who mutilates a plant robs it of its true 
beauty; in fact, he never sees a plant as friend sees 
friend, giving it a hearty welcome in the morning and re¬ 
gretting when night hides it from his view. 
The professional florist, as a rule, has not the slightest 
conception of the real beauty of a plant; he cultivates it 
for what he can make of it, not for what it can make of 
him. Plants are educators, if we listen to their teachings, 
and at the same time they exert a refining influence if 
we but bring ourselves in contact with them. The florist 
takes the Bennett rose and says, “ I have a fortune here ; it 
has the color that is so much desired ; it has form that 
cannot be improved upon ; it keeps well, and is not in¬ 
jured in carrying ; in addition to all this it emits a most 
grateful and delicious perfume. And what is more im¬ 
portant still, it propagates freely.” He takes the Crested 
Moss and says, “ Yes, this is a charming rose, but it 
won’t propagate.” Again, he shows us the Cloth of 
Gold, a jewel of a rose, but it is not a free bloomer, there 
is not enough money in this to make it popular. We ask 
him about the Safrano or Bon Silene, the only roses we 
had for winter blooming but a few years ago, “ Oh ! they 
don’t sell now, excepting in the Bowery or on Second 
avenue ; they are of no use any longer.” What a sad 
prostitution, to estimate the “ most beautiful gifts of God’s 
goodness ” by what they will bring in the market. 
The amateur’s garden is, in a great measure, as void of 
heart and soul as is that of the professional florist. Oc¬ 
casionally we go into a garden where the plants are loved 
and cared for ; you see the indications on every side. 
The plants are properly trained, well fed, clean, vigorous, 
rampant growers; they have a cheerful, happy look, as 
does everything that is loved. In this garden, plants ex¬ 
ert an influence for good that cannot be over-estimated. 
There is a vast difference between admiring flowers and 
loving them, although it is rarely known or understood. 
It is a common expression that the man or woman does 
not live who does not inherently love flowers. This is a 
mistake, although I fully believe there is scarcely a person 
living who does not admire flowers. The admiration of 
an object and a love for it do not evolve from the same 
faculties of the mind. We all admire a noble-looking, 
beautiful man or woman, but this admiration is simply of 
an external character. A love for the same person is 
quite a different matter, and can only come from the in¬ 
fluence they exert over us. It is the same with flowers ; 
we admire their gorgeous colors, beautiful forms and de¬ 
licious fragrance, and we delight in the possession of such 
attractive objects; we gloat over them as a miser does 
over his gold, not because they benefit us in any way, but 
because they are external evidences of wealth or taste. 
We love the display they make and the notoriety they 
give us. Our love of approbation is feasted when our 
gardens make such a display as to attract the passers-by. 
A true love of the flower is quite another sentiment, 
and is in proportion to the knowledge we have of its 
inner life, of what the plant does for us, the mission it 
has to perform in the economy of nature and the refining 
influences that the beautiful and pure have on character. 
We find scattered through the Persian literature many 
chaste and poetical allegories illustrating in a most ele¬ 
gant form these influences, among them as follows : “ A 
traveler, in passing through a country in Persia, chanced 
to take into his hand a piece of clay which lay by the 
wayside, and, to his surprise, he found it to exhale a most 
delightful fragrance. ‘ Thou art but a poor piece of clay,’ 
said he, ‘ an unsightly, unattractive, poor piece of clay ; 
yet how fragrant art thou ! How refreshing! I admire 
thee ; I love thee ; thou shalt be my companion; I will 
carry thee in my bosom. But whence hast thou this 
fragrance ? ’ The clay replied: ‘ I have been dwelling 
with the rose.’ ” 
Of the plant’s influence we shall speak farther on, 
while for the moment we describe our experiences in the 
garden where there is but little to be seen excepting 
weeds. 
In the well-ordered garden each season brings a full 
crop of pleasure, varied as the human taste, much of 
which is harvested, but by far the larger part we fail to 
secure. In winter we plant our flowers in imagination, 
and usually have a good crop ; and certainly there are no 
