THE EVOLUTION OF GARDEN FLOWERS AND BY JOHN M. MACFARLANE Professor of Botany and Director of the Botanic Garden A century may be a long or a short span in human history. While the days and the years of it may all be mathematically the same, a hundred years for man is long or short just as he makes it. The united human activities of such a period may be uninteresting, uneventful and sluggishly progressive. Then a century moves past with slow and dreary beat, as did the 13th and the 17th of our bimillenium. Or again stirring events, notable discoveries, new inventions, successful explorations, may be crowded into years that seem from their teeming activities, to race past alike before the ocular and the mental vision. Such was the past century, that had no previous equal in human history. Such unquestionably will be the present, that before its close shall have eclipsed all others in progressive accomplishment. Our desire now is to travel backward in thought, and to estimate, so far as possible, the advances made in man's knowledge and utilization of new flowers and fruits through the past century. The endeavor is an eminently appropriate one when we remember that this is the centennial year of Herbert Spencer's birth, and that within two months we shall have reached his centennial birthday. Though he could be called neither a botanist nor a horticulturist, his far-reaching and increasingly accepted views on the phenomena of life, have earned for him our profoundest gratitude and thanks. But such a retrospect, as is now proposed, could nowhere better be made than in this our city, for a hundred years ago it was the leading center in America for study of plant and animal life; as it was the home of eminent scientists, horticulturists, and plant-breeders. By their efforts were founded the University in 1740, the Philadelphia Society for Promoting Agriculture in 1785, the American Philosophical Society in 1806, the Academy of Natural Sciences in 1812, and the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society in 1827. The continued existence of these institutions, as well as its justly celebrated nurseries and private gardens of to-day, are proof that the century-old aspiration is being worthily perpetuated. In our attempt to estimate aright the progress made in the evolution of new flowers and fruits, we may be aided by a little publication that is now before me, but which is of extreme rarity. Its title page reads: "Periodical Catalogue of Fruit and Ornamental Trees and Shrubs, Greenhouse Plants, etc., cultivated and for sale at Bartram's Botanic Garden, Kingsessing, near Gray's Ferry, Four miles from Philadelphia, Robert Carr, Proprietor. Russell and Martien, Printers, 1828." We all honor the name and memory of John and William Bartram, the former of whom in 1728 "established the first Botanic Garden in America" and has well been described as "one of the most illustrious, and by far the most picturesque of the early botanists and horticulturists of America, and his simple, wholesome, powerful personality presents a picture that is altogether amiable." His sons, William and John, perpetuated the establishment as a nursery-garden-for alas no city or state aid was forthcoming-and from it the first printed catalogue seems to have been issued in 1801, or 27 years earlier than that now before us. In this early work it is said that "these extensive gardens became the Seminary of American Vegetables, from whence they were distributed to Europe and other regions of the civilized world. They may with propriety and truth be called "The Botanical Academy of Pennsylvania,' since, being near Philadelphia, the Professors of Botany, Chemistry, and Materia Medica, attended by their youthful train of pupils, annually assemble here during the Floral season. In his later years, and up to the time of his death in 1823, the venerable form of William might have been seen moving about amongst his garden treasures, superintending the migration of his greenhouse plants on to the open terraces before the homestead in spring time, and the return of them to the long heavy semi-building, semi-greenhouse nearby, that sheltered them through the winter months, happy meanwhile in the thought that his Journal of Wanderings in the Southern States had been republished in London, as well as translated into French, Dutch and German, a rare distinction for an American book of those days. The surroundings, the day-thoughts, and the activities of many of us often pass into night dreams. And those night dreams at times seem to condense events into a few minutes, that have taken days for waking accomplishment. Scenes and personalities also may be conjured up that we have known only from description or illustration. So, it need not be regarded as passing strange if a Philadelphia plant-lover of to-daysaturated with the plant lore of the past hundred years-were to walk in dreamland with Friend William Bartram, and in the act were to hold pleasant converse on the flowers and fruits of 1820, as compared with those of our own time. Listen then to the story of the dream, which resolved itself into four excursions, that the two kindred spirits Botanicus and Friend William took amid Philadelphia environs. The first of these four excursions seemed to unfold on a sparkling morning in late April, when Botanicus looked in on Friend William at the revered Bartram Homestead. His aim was to guide the latter on a springtime visit to a well known Philadelphia Garden. Scarcely had they emerged from the old and historic domain, when the venerable companion was puzzled by two deep cuttings, that were traversed-far as the eye could see-by shining iron cords. Botanicus tried to explain that along these cords rushed engines, each hauling village-loads of humanity at the rate of 40 miles an hour. The startled look on the usually placid face of Friend William had scarcely faded, when Darby Road was reached and an electric car rushed past. Our Friend stood amazed and timorously looked around. Instead of the fields, the woodlands, the mudroads and fences of his remembered days were solid rows of houses on every hand, smooth paved highways with distant vistas and great cars moving along them as if propelled by unseen power. Instead of replying to his astonished queries, Botanicus drew his attention to long rows of light greenhouses that he proposed they should look in on. Friend William viewed them critically though suspiciously, but agreed to enter. The sight lit up his countenance, as house after house was traversed. He remembered the hardy though simple Carnations, Roses and Snapdragons of Kingsessing Botanic Garden, and now looked on tall stately stalks that were crowned by large, rich and symmetric blooms of varied and attractive hue. He marvelled when told of the culture adopted, of the extensive sales effected, of the prices paid, and of the many homes that were adorned in winter and spring time by them. But he could not refrain from asking where the prim and exact Camellia blooms were, that he and his father had grown, with much care, in their rather gloomy plant house, for adornment of the lady guests at the annual Assembly Ball. When told that fashion had ruled them out as being frail and scentless, a look of resignation glanced from his eyes. Again emerging into the open, Botanicus induced his venerable companion to board successively two electric cars that speedily bore them to Horticultural Hall. The latter made admiring exclamations, as many home gardens were passed, that showed mounds of white, pink and purple Magnolia blooms borne by spreading trees. All of these he was told were native to Japan, and had only reached Philadelphia about 1830, when they soon became favorites and proved to be as hardy as they were handsome. He recalled with interest the successful discovery by his father in the mountains of the Central Eastern States, and the subsequent distribution by him, of the native Magnolias with giant leaves and pure white flowers, that now find place in European collections. As the paved walks of Fairmount Park were traversed, and the imposing outline of Horticultural Hall glistened through the trees, Friend William greatly admired the scene on every side. As part of, and now surrounded by, what had become a city of a million and a half population, the park yet suggested to him rural quiet combined with gardening skill. Almost simultaneously brilliant expanses of yellow, white and scarlet tulips caught his eye in one direction, crimson patches of the dwarf Azalea amona from Japan appeared in another direction, and rich borders of multicolored pansies gave quieter effect, in yet another. With the enthusiasm almost of boyhood, he hurried from one group to another, and then proposed many questions. He recalled the tulipomania of three centuries before, when single bulbs were gambled about up to a price of even $2000. He spoke of Maddocks' varied collection of tulips in 1792 that included 665 named varieties. He appreciated even the powerful action of environal agencies, when he quoted Philip Miller's views of 1807 as to the origin of the numerous types of tulip of that time. Says he; "all that can be done by art, is to shift the roots every year into fresh earth of different mixtures, and into a different situation, by which method I have had very good success." Botanicus at once exclaimed-"You were good evolutionists then a hundred years ago, when you recognized that changed surroundings produced changed results." William seemed puzzled, but kept his peace. His companion on the other hand started to expatiate on how the tricolored "Johnny-jump-ups," or wild pansies of William's childhood, had been exposed to varied soils, had been carefully selected by seed as improved strains then appeared, had been skilfully crossed with each other during the past half century to force new combinations of color, size and shape, till from such beds as they then stood by, he boldly asserted that at least 250 distinct varieties could be secured. Then said William slowly: "changing and varied surroundings that will break the type, skilled selection of the best that appear, and crossing of these with each other to secure still more rapid variations seem to be your compound secret that has given such wonderful results." In triumphant tone Botanicus exclaimed;"Precisely so, and in like manner |