e could come to no conclusion until the
shining illustrations of the Christian faith rose up before him. Taking
the white hand of each fair disputant in his own, he said,--

"The question is too hard for me to answer; but ask the _poor_, those
who in any way solicit from us a favor, and they will tell you that the
most beautiful hand in the world is the hand that _gives_."

I could have discovered beauty even in that of our neighbor, coarse and
soiled as it was, had it been open and generous. But the nerves by whose
agency the human hand is opened freely or as tightly closed must have
their source in the human heart. If there be sympathy for others there,
a politeness of the heart, the kindly impulses thus living and moving
within it will vibrate through every cord of one's being, and,
struggling for outward expression, will manifest their presence by the
warm grasp of the hand, the cordial smile, the gently modulated voice,
the unflagging effort to promote the happiness of all around. I had not
asked a gift; it was the jealous indisposition to oblige that so grieved
and confounded me.

I had always supposed that horticulture was one of the ennobling
arts,--that it enlarged the affections and refined the manners of all
who pursued it, even when they did so as a matter of pecuniary gain.
Here was evidence that in one instance I was mistaken. But it was the
single exception to what may be regarded as the general rule; for in
other cases I have found humble cultivators of both fruit and flowers,
to whose genial hearts all selfish unwillingness to communicate a
knowledge of the art, or to supply me with plants, was a total stranger.
There are thousands of pioneers such as I was. It is well for them that
the light they need is not hidden under the bushel of any one churlish
individual. But there were ample expedients remaining, and it required
more than one discouragement to divert me from the object we were
seeking to accomplish.

There stands in the centre of Second Street, in Philadelphia, a
market-house extending two squares below Pine Street, long famous for
its overflowing supplies of fruits and vegetables. In passing through it
on my daily walk to the factory, I now remembered having seen abundance
of strawberries on the various stands; but, having at that time no
special interest in the subject, I had only noticed the beauty of their
crimson pyramids, the abundant supply, and the throngs of buyers that
gathered r