"Then your work went hand in hand?"
MR. GIBSON AT WORK IN HIS STUDIO.
"Certainly. The one was the stimulant of the other. We all grew up together. The days spent in my room when I was ill helped me. I think I studied flowers then, so that their forms and colors were indelibly impressed on my mind. When I was older I made a small bunch of flowers in wax. Not a detail escaped me. I made moulds of all kinds of leaves. Once I put together a rose, some sprigs of mignonette and heliotrope in wax, and gave them to my dear old friend, Henry Ward Beecher. He was delighted with my flowers, and put them on his study table. Presently Mrs. Beecher came in. She ran to the flowers and broke the rose all to pieces.
"How could she have done that?" I asked.
"It must have been with her nose. She wanted to smell the rose."
Then Mr Hamilton Gibson showed me some monster drawings of flowers—Brobdingnagian ones. The flowers opened and closed when you pulled a string, showing their interior structure. Here were bees or other insects, and they flew into the flowers, collected the honey, and, above all, the pollen, and buzzed out again. He explained to me how plant life would perish were it not for certain insects, which bring a new existence to flowers; for without these winged helpers there would be no longer any varieties of flowers or seeds.
You will see, then, that in tracing the beginning of Mr. Hamilton Gibson's career what I mean by harking backwards.
I am certain, too, that in every boy and girl there is something good and excellent. Like the flower visited by the bee, all it wants is impulse. Then, as Mr. Hamilton Gibson explained it to me, will come the blossoming, and lastly perfect fruitage.