Among the chief of the many improvements which this our dingy metropolis
has received within the last few years, must be classed the attention
given to flowers and window gardens. The very rich have their
conservatories and plantations, the well-to-do in London their
greenhouse and their parterre, the humbler lovers of all green things
their fern-case and flower-stands; but the dwellers in the one back
room, the weary city clerk with his limited salary, his many mouths to
feed, and his circumscribed house-room, have only their window
garden—their long wooden box, enriched it may be with gaudy
tiles—wherein to plant their childhood’s favorites and keep the color
of God’s carpet green in their memories.
Flowers and music make the poetry of life, and the more the toilers in
this city of brick and mortar are made familiar with them, the better
for their mental and moral health. This conviction has spread rapidly
during the last few years, the rich having set the example by festooning
their town houses with hardy climbers, while their balconies are filled
in Summer with flowers.
The subtle influence of flowers on mankind is so thoroughly admitted,
that it seems as though the remembrance of the ‘garden the Lord planted’
has never died out of the perception of the human race; the love and
cultivation of plants has always had an elevating tendency—a drawing
near to those far-off days of innocence when the trees and flowers and
song of the wild bird were man’s delight, as he ‘walked with God.’
The Dean of Westminster, other dignitaries of the Church, highborn
ladies, and people of wealth and leisure, have done much lately towards
fostering this growing feeling among all classes by giving prizes for
the best plants grown in dingy back yards and smoky garret-rooms; and it
is as astonishing as it is touching to find how, like a human being, the
little plant adapts itself to its surroundings, and throws out its
beauty and fragrance in return for a little patience and tender care.
Annual exhibitions of workmen’s flowers take place patronised by the
highest in the land; in all directions efforts are being made to spread
the growing taste, and, above all, to give the toiling man and woman a
home interest, a something to tend and watch, which is nature’s only
safeguard against selfishness.
Few who have visited the sick, whether poor or otherwise, have not seen
the flush of pleasure that tints their pale cheeks at an offering of
flowers.
After those plant shows, where children exhibit, if the little window
gardeners were encouraged to give their prize blossoms to the old and
sick of their acquaintance, a feeling of kindliness and generosity in
the young would be sown that would bear the fruits of charity hereafter.
I believe that flower sermons are given now and then by those good
clergymen who have a special interest in the young. Each child brings a
flower, and he tells them all he knows of the flowers that Christ
hallowed by name; so God’s living gems become sacred in the child’s
memory, not to be plucked and cast away at a moment’s whim.
The culture of plants in our crowded back slums and alleys would be most
beneficial to the health, plants living on certain gases we exhale; and
it seems impossible to conceive that a lover of flowers can be quite
hardened in heart—there must be a soft spot where the arrow of
religious conviction may penetrate if aimed by a skilful archer. The
ministers of religion might do worse than foster window gardening in
districts where they visit.
Many have doubtless heard of the ‘Flower Mission.’ Little bunches of
flowers are made up by ladies’ fingers and sent to hospitals, and I hope
workhouses, and to many a leaflet is attached on which a short sentence
of Scripture is written. I am told that the happiest results have
ensued. Men and women whom the word of chaplain failed to soften, at the
sight of a flower have ‘given in’ and wept! Days of past innocence and
happiness crowded into their memories by the ministration of a homely
wallflower, and the wandering soul has returned to the Father of all
created things.
To those with gardens full of flowering shrubs and conservatories
radiant with scented beauty, to the more homely garden-lover with
borders full of wallflowers and lily of the valley, with walls burdened
with monthly roses and honeysuckle, I say, give of your abundance to the
sick in mind and body. Once a week during the bounteous flower season
send to some hospital, workhouse, or infirmary a hamper of God’s living
gems. Be a member of the ‘Flower Mission’ in all its branches, in the
window, the sick room, and to the aged pauper; nay, if, with the Bible,
into the felon’s cell a flower now and then finds its way, the strictest
disciplinarian will surely not object.
—————