it was a great deal, for the most stolid and matter-of-fact observer
cannot take from the flowers their divine gift of beauty. No sight
is prettier than that of children gathering wild flowers, in pure enjoy-
ment of their beauty, in the natural gardens planted by the Father's
hand. The love of flowers is a redeeming feature in characters other-
wise unamiable, if, indeed, any but the amiable can love objects and
possessions so pure and beautiful. They suggest beauty and har-
mony, virtue and peace. They are full of what Matthew Arnold
calls " sweetness and light." The tired sight finds rest and recrea-
tion in the variegated colors and beautiful arrangements of a garden.
, Through the eye the fancy, and the higher faculty than fancy, imagi-
nation, is gently stimulated. We turn back to look again at the
beautiful rose-bed, or the other flowers majestic, or simple and re-
tiring, which recall to us some scene or feeling of the past. As aids
to memory, flowers are to some minds more powerful than music.
The familiar flower appeals through the eye as the familiar melody
does through the ear to the memory of the past. Memory is itself a
flower-garden where good deeds and kindly affections blossom as we
look back. And even more vividly to the sensitive imagination are
the happy pictures of the past recalled by the perfume than the aspect
of a favorite flower. The air made aromatic by the flower-beds
^seems to waft us back to the days of other years, and perhaps other
countries, where the same perfume made some special scene, event,
f)r person eternal in our memory. Some one we loved may be im-
pressed upon our remembrance chiefly by a flower. Hence there
•was true philosophy in Shakespeare's letting poor Ophelia deck her-
FLORAL WINDOW.
FLORICULTURE AND HORTICULTURE, 265
self with flowers, which she makes emblems of the past and of the
feelings of the heart. Every one must be conscious, on first entering
a garden or a room in which beautiful flowers strike the eye and their
fragrance rises to the brain, of a change in inward feeling, a throwing
off of thought-burdens and a taking on of pleasanter feelings and ideas.
No ambition is more noble in an humble toiler for daily bread than
that of having a little garden as well as a home of his own. The road
of life would be far gloomier and harder than it is if there were no
flowery meads along the way ; no perfumes to exalt and purify the
thoughts from the dull routine and murky atmosphere of a world
which seems divided between work and want — all but the oases in
the desert, the flower-gardens and the incense-laden plants of beauty
that spring up like visions of Eden regardened by a restored gardener.
For man's first, happiest and healthiest employment was the " sweet
gardening toil " which God gave him for his pastime in Paradise.
Toil-worn, foot-sore and hand-stained as the wanderer from that first
garden of peace and plenty may be, we shall never find a home, how-
ever humble, in which a garden is well kept and cheers the roadside,
or flowers adorn the windows and shed their fragrance through the
rooms, inhabited by vice and vit)lence. The flowers soon wither in
a drunkard's home.
Page 171
Presented as published in 1883. Historical recipes may not meet modern food-safety standards. Cook from the modern interpretation, not the original instructions.
AI-modernized reading of the original text
it was a great deal, for the most stolid and matter-of-fact observer cannot take from the flowers their divine gift of beauty. No sight is prettier than that of children gathering wild flowers, in pure enjoyment of their beauty, in the natural gardens planted by the Father's hand. The love of flowers is a redeeming feature in characters otherwise unamiable, if, indeed, any but the amiable can love objects and possessions so pure and beautiful. They suggest beauty and harmony, virtue and peace. They are full of what Matthew Arnold calls " sweetness and light." The tired sight finds rest and recreation in the variegated colors and beautiful arrangements of a garden.
, Through the eye the fancy, and the higher faculty than fancy, imagination, is gently stimulated. We turn back to look again at the beautiful rose-bed, or the other flowers majestic, or simple and retiring, which recall to us some scene or feeling of the past. As aids to memory, flowers are to some minds more powerful than music. The familiar flower appeals through the eye as the familiar melody does through the ear to the memory of the past. Memory is itself a flower-garden where good deeds and kindly affections blossom as we look back. And even more vividly to the sensitive imagination are the happy pictures of the past recalled by the perfume than the aspect of a favorite flower. The air made aromatic by the flower-beds
^seems to waft us back to the days of other years, and perhaps other countries, where the same perfume made some special scene, event, f)r person eternal in our memory. Some one we loved may be impressed upon our remembrance chiefly by a flower. Hence there •was true philosophy in Shakespeare's letting poor Ophelia deck her-
FLORAL WINDOW.
self with flowers, which she makes emblems of the past and of the feelings of the heart. Every one must be conscious, on first entering a garden or a room in which beautiful flowers strike the eye and their fragrance rises to the brain, of a change in inward feeling, a throwing off of thought-burdens and a taking on of pleasanter feelings and ideas. No ambition is more noble in an humble toiler for daily bread than that of having a little garden as well as a home of his own. The road of life would be far gloomier and harder than it is if there were no flowery meads along the way ; no perfumes to exalt and purify the thoughts from the dull routine and murky atmosphere of a world which seems divided between work and want — all but the oases in the desert, the flower-gardens and the incense-laden plants of beauty that spring up like visions of Eden regardened by a restored gardener. For man's first, happiest and healthiest employment was the " sweet gardening toil " which God gave him for his pastime in Paradise. Toil-worn, foot-sore and hand-stained as the wanderer from that first garden of peace and plenty may be, we shall never find a home, however humble, in which a garden is well kept and cheers the roadside, or flowers adorn the windows and shed their fragrance through the rooms, inhabited by vice and violence. The flowers soon wither in a drunkard's home.