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As I gazed on wonderingly the flowers seemed to fade away and miniature people stand in their places. The Baby's breath, yes, of course that was sweet babyhood, so soft and white and tiny. The pansies told me of happy childhood, so gay, bright, and saucy, playing hide and seek in and out around their mother, the sweet peas. Motherhood, I think, is the lovliest of all, so kind and true and tender, and yet always climbing higher, higher, striving for that which is best. Then fatherhood, the brave, manly Holyhocks, looking down lovingly upon the mother, children, and babes.

I did not pick my flowers as I had intended to do. As Timrod says in "Flower-Life:"

"And so I cannot deem it right
To take from these the glad sunlight, 
As I have sometimes dared."

Truly Emerson was right when he said, "If eyes were made for seeing, then beauty is its own excuse for being.

By Miss. Margaret Rowe
Plymouth Mich
R. F. D. #2.