Page:The Tales of a Traveller.djvu/109

Rh Mr. Peirce replied. He wrote his letter in red ink. Its substance was as follows:

"Sirs:

Yours to hand and noted. You have no order from me, and that is all there is to it. Yours respectfully,

,

Per the Old Man,

Pres. of the Anti-Bulldozing Society."

There was no further correspondence on the subject.

At the Carnation conventions, Mr. Peirce was always one of the conspicuous figures. His remarks, when he arose to address the meeting, were always terse, lucid, and to the point; no waste of words at any time.

William Scott of Buffalo and Mr. Peirce were great friends. At one time Mr. Scott showed me a letter from Mr. Peirce, urging him to come to Waltham and spend a month with him. But Mr. Scott's illness had already come upon him, and the visit was never paid.

Mr. Peirce's good humor never deserted him, even during the days of his final illness. He was a man who saw only the brighter side of life; at least he never indicated in his manner that his mind ever dwelt upon the darker shades.

Since his father's death, Allan Peirce has made numerous changes about the place, discarding Lilies entirely. Instead he grows Roses, and grows them most successfully.

Like the Hub itself, its greatest and most famous suburb, Cambridge, is always of great interest to me. There I like to stroll through the grounds of Harvard University, often, if time permits, peeping into the halls of learning where so many famous men received their training. The Harvard Museum is mighty interesting, and the collection of glass flowers, the most famous in the world, is of especial interest to a man dealing in bulbs, seeds, and plants. The home of Longfellow is interesting to all Americans; and indeed, foreigners visiting that part of the country make a special pilgrimage to it. The typical New England streets and residences, many of the Colonial period, have a charm that is all their own.

I have several friends in Cambridge. My periodical visits to them mean always to me much pleasure, in addition to the pecuniary interest. Fred C. Becker, of "Nephrolepis Bostoniensis" fame, is still at the old stand, and is as progressive as ever. To Mr. Becker is due the credit of having brought out the Boston fern, a fern that is known the world over and one which has marked a new departure in fern production.

And there is A. M. Davenport, the eminent wholesale plant grower of Massachusetts. It would be hard for me to speak of Mr. Davenport and his product without arousing the reader's suspicion that I was exaggerating. But Mr. Davenport needs no glowing descriptions about his plants; they have spoken for themselves these many years.

My friend MacKenzie is there, too. Mr. MacKenzie is an artist as well as a grower, though the fact may not be generally known. He plays the violin with the skill of the professional, and the collection of violins in his den shows that his interest in art is no less than his interest in things floricultural. Perhaps music and flowers bear close relation. Mr. MacKenzie is a delightful man to come in contact with.

I never had the pleasure of meeting the late W. W. Edgar, of Waverly, personally. But I had heard of him very often. A few years after his demise, I had the opportunity to see for myself what florists had often told me. Mr. Edgar's