But types of
what? Perhaps she was observing the lilies of the board walk
whose raiment was so dazzling that Solomon would not have
arrayed himself like one of these even though he could. They are
true lilies for they toil not, neither do they spin, unless it
be a fabulous yarn about some fair rivals, and for this lack of
toil they lose the real meaning and significance of life.
Everything about them is toil, not that grinding toil with no
final goal to reach but that exhilarating joyful kind as seen in
the waves, in bees and flowers. The waves come running up to
shore sending silver reflections glinting along the beach,
always blending beauty and usefulness; the air about the linden
trees is melodious with multitudes of murmuring toilers
preparing for a winter's need; the purple fox-glove, that good
Samaritan among the flowers, in modest beauty holds aloft its
purple bells all unmindful of the cheer it brings to lonely
hearts or the hope it bears to thousands of sufferers.
It is surprising to see that by far the greater numbers of
people turn their backs on the ocean while they scan the daily
papers for sensational items or the latest styles. It seems a
cruel waste of glorious linden trees to say nothing of the
wealth of sweets that the bees have lost to record at least some
vamp's trial in a murder case or some miserably rich woman's
divorce scandal.
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