to respond to an improvised toast. When the turn came to me, I knew I was up against it, for Mr. Carmody imposed no less a penalty upon me than to tell them the story—or to put it in his own words:
"We will call upon Brother Skidelsky and let him tell us how he skedaddled from Russia."
To J. A. Peterson of Cincinnati he referred in the following manner: "In looking around the room for old Peter, I fail to see his benevolent face. In the absence of him, we will call on Peterson (Peter's son)."
John Evans, the well-known ventilating man of Richmond, Ind., was called upon to rise and explain "why his machine aint as good as mine."
That was a memorable evening, and will always be remembered by me as one of the pleasantest in my recollection.
One of my best friends in the trade, a man whom I always greatly respected, and whose memory I shall ever cherish, was Edwin Lonsdale of Philadelphia. The name of Mr. Lonsdale is coupled in the mind of the average grower of the older generation with some of the best Crotons, Begonias, and other plants that we have in commerce today. Mr. Lonsdale was first of all a horticulturist, a man who spared neither time, effort, nor expense to bring forth the best that he thought would benefit the world of horticulture. Many a man in his place might have turned the popularity he enjoyed and the knowledge he possessed to his own pecuniary advantage. But Edwin Lonsdale was a man cast in a different mold. To him money held forth little allurement. His disinterestedness, or lack of financial acumen constituted one of his major faults. If he succeeded in introducing a novelty (and a generation ago he introduced several Carnation seedlings, of which "Helen Keller" is the best remembered) the very fact that the novelty introduced was of benefit to the trade was to him ample compensation for his labors.
Years before I was in the business myself, he was associated with John Burton, his brother-in-law, a very successful and prominent grower of Philadelphia. When they separated, Mr. Lonsdale continued the business on his own account, plunging into novelties, some of which paid and some of which did not. But money, as I said, had little charm for Mr. Lonsdale. He was experimenting, delving, as it were, into the realms of the unknown in plants, with all the zeal and impersonality of the true scientist.
I met Mr. Lonsdale about 1897, and my few business connections with him were of the kind to endear him to me until the day of his death. It was in the Summer of 1897 that Mr. Lonsdale was overtaken by a calamity of the most horrible nature. Two of his daughters, young girls of culture and fine attainments, were drowned in the angry surf of Atlantic City. Mr. Lonsdale at the time had the heartfelt sympathy, not only of his friends in the trade, but of the public at large as well. That kind of tragedy tears at the heart-strings of all mankind.
Notwithstanding the calamity that had fallen upon him, Mr. Lonsdale bore up heroically. His amiable disposition and optimistic nature, qualities to be envied by every man, enabled him to live on and look forward to the future. At the same time, however, his enthusiasm for his business seemed to wane. Later on, he accepted a position with the Girard College, of Philadelphia, as the chief landscape gardener. Many an out-of-town florist had the pleasure of being entertained by Mr. Lonsdale on the magnificent grounds that under his able management always presented a sight worthy of the gods.
Some years later, another misfortune overtook him. The only child left him, a young girl of about twenty, succumbed to the ravages of typhoid fever. Poor Mr. Lonsdale! His ever-smiling face never betrayed his inner pain.
The history of his departure for California, as manager for one of the Burpee Seed farms, is still fresh in the memory of all his friends. The last banquet tendered to him, at Dooner's Hotel in Philadelphia, was an occasion long to be re-
