The new era., 1909-08-26
HoWSaJ zNaT nRlHzNE H1O .S5s,,k:"

Those who only visit the country at
week-ends, or other intervals. cannot
help being struck with the fact that
there is nearly always dominating
flower; that is to say. one which IN
full bloom takes possession of the land
scape and attains a temporary mastery
over all others. On a comparatively
small but definite scale, this is wit
messed in the garden. This is daft
fodil time" we exclaim one day in
our Joy at seeing the ground become
yellow with the blooms OF this flower.
But in a little while I'VE weep to see
you haste away SO soon." The life
of a flower has long been used as
metaphor for all that is most fair
and transient. For little while only
does the fresh purity of the color re-
main Seed-pods are formed. the pet
ais wither, the beauty passes. 1t is
part OF procession. and in the very
act of breathing a sigh of regret that
what is SO fair should be so evanes-
cent, attention Is caught by a new set
OF forets that swell out till they oc-
cupy the place Of those that have
faded. The daffodil, either IT the mass
or the individual, possesses kind of
wistfulness such as might come from
gazing from the outside Of some i'm
passable gate over those tabled plains
whereon the ancient dreamed 1t grew.
But the tulip when dominant is OF an
opposite character. An embodiment
OF color without fragrance, 1t COM
bines with the butterfly to show gay
ETY. unmixed with sentiment The daft
fodil is romantic maiden. the tulip
a tripping ballet girl. exquisitely
dressed, satisfying the taste for color.
but touching no emotion. How differ
ent with the rose. Age cannot wither
nor custom stale her infinite variety"
den plot of the poor, embellishing
pergola or covering the cottage walls.
1t tells the same tale, and suggests
the same old song. "Oh, my luve is
like a red. red rose that's newly
sprung In June" Oder and color and
form all unite. and when we speak
of what transcends life, there is no
simile finer than that of the ''unfad
ing" rose. No wonder that Rosa Mum
di is a name Of highest honor.
Its mention carries us back to the
fields. A garden close is WELL but
"a diviner and more pellucid air
hangs over the wild thicket and hedge
row where the dog rose is in its glory.
The wind blowing over grass anC half
grown corn when the wild rose is at
its height, dissipates the garden senti-
ment 1t Is a dominating flower in
early July, and SO we appea- to be
taking our pageant backward almost.
But, indeed. the best of a procession
is not always to be seen from a fixed
point Instead of watching all the
flowers of a season file East in order.
as though they were soldiers at re-
view, 1t is more interesting to take
a bit here and a bit there according
as caprice or interest may dictate.
And the wild sweet summer, as
Wordsworth says. "Aaunts" all its
beauty on the wild rose. 1t bursts out
on the thicket, 1t takes possession of
the hedgerow. 1t blossoms on the
waste place. Like a million small
and happy faces its buds open. till the
earth is glowing with their beauty
Yet the fragile bloom will scarcely
bear to be plucked. and its stay with
us is as brief as that of the daffodil
But very little while and the petals
futter down and the rank grass and
summers dark green reassert them
selves.
or wild Towering shrubs there is
none more dominating while it lasts
than the broom. Its rough predeces-
sor. the gorse, only gives a taste OF
the effect it produces. The gorse is
always throwing out blossoms. but
even at its best 1t is as bronze to gold
compared with the great yellow mass
of the broom in flower. On the Surrey
commons it makes brave show, but
is not so commanding as on the great
wastes of the north. where it spreads
out into vast stretches of blazing and
shining gold. In the days of our youth
old men remembered, or of them their
fathers had told them, the huge fields
of broom. the bushes of which were
taller than the tallest man. that
stretch over what il now . cultivated