The editor of _The United Presbyterian_ writes thus:
On a recent evening during a severe hailstorm we opened our
door to observe the progress of the storm, and were surprized
to find the air laden with the odor of nasturtiums. There
were porch-boxes containing nasturtiums, geraniums and other
flowering and foliage plants. Beds of nasturtiums were by the
street’s side and at the side of the lawn, and into these the
hail had fallen, beating down and breaking the vines until the
porch floor and the ground beneath the boxes and the vines were
covered with ends of broken sprays, leaves and bright bits of
yellow and gold, scarlet and maroon of the mangled flowers. But
the air was full of the sweetness of the crusht and wounded
vines. They were returning good for evil in the misfortune that
had come upon them. For every wound that the hail had made
they were giving out the fragrance of a beautiful spirit. Tho
bruised and broken, they were filling the whole atmosphere with
an aroma which was in beautiful contrast to the adverse rain of
hail that still rattled on the roofs and walks and fell among
the prostrate vines. Blest is that life which can yield its
sweetest fragrance when the storms are at their highest. We have
all known men and women who, when lacerated with pain, prostrate
under the hand of God, have made the very atmosphere of the
sick-room redolent with the incense of Christian hope and trust.
(44)