t a young man by the name of J.
Wedgwood, who had planted a flower-garden adjacent to his pottery. He
also had his men wash their hands and faces and change their clothes
after working in the clay. He is small and lame, but his soul is near to
God."

I think that John Wesley was a very great man. I also think he was great
enough to know that only a man who is in love plants a flower-garden.

Yes, such was the case--Josiah Wedgwood was in love, madly, insanely,
tragically in love! And he was liberating that love in his work. Hence,
among other forms that his "insanity" took, he planted a flower-garden.

And of course, the garden was for the lady he loved.

Love must do something--it is a form of vital energy and the best thing
it does, it does for the beloved. Flowers are love's own properties. And
so flowers, natural or artificial, are a secondary sex manifestation.

I said Josiah Wedgwood was tragically in love--the word was used
advisedly. One can play comedy; two are required for melodrama; but a
tragedy demands three.

A tragedy means opposition, obstacle, objection. Josiah Wedgwood was
putting forth a flower-garden, not knowing why, possibly, but as a form
of attraction. And John Wesley riding by, reined in, stopped and after
talking with the owner of the flower-garden wrote, "He is small and
lame, but his soul is near to God."

* * * * *

Josiah Wedgwood, like Richard Arkwright, his great contemporary, was the
thirteenth child of his parents.

Let family folk fear no more about thirteen being an unlucky number. The
common law of England, which usually has some good reason based on
commonsense for its existence, makes the eldest son the heir: this on
the assumption that the firstborn inherits brain and brawn plus. If the
firstborn happened to be a girl, it didn't count.

The rest of the family grade down until we get "the last run of shad."
But Nature is continually doing things just as if to smash our theories.
The Arkwrights and the Wedgwoods are immortal through Omega and not
Alpha.

Thomas Wedgwood, the father of Josiah, was a potter who made butter-pots
and owned a little pottery that stood in the yard behind the house. He
owned it, save for a mortgage, and when he died, he left the mortgage
and the property to his eldest son Thomas, to look after.

Josiah was then nine years old, but already he was throwing clay on the
potter's wheel. It would not do to say that he