My first recollection of a cactus was of a night-blowing serious which my mother had. It was much older than I was, so they said, and for twelve weary summers and thirteen blustering winters I stubbed my toes against it and pricked my fingers on it, before I ever saw it blow. We tugged it out in the spring and in again in the fall, and father and I declared every time that we would never do it again. It didn't seem to grow any, and yet it got heavier every time we moved it; but mother knew that it grew, and stuck to it, because it was bigger than when she got it. Father used to say that there was no blow in it, anyhow, and wanted to cut it up for kindling wood. But mother knew that it would blow, and she wasn't going to have it destroyed just because a man didn't have any love for flowers. But I think she would have given it up before I was born if father hadn't wished the thing was in Guinea ! There is nothing like adversity to discipline one's character, and so she stuck to it. The old women said that it would blow at midnight when it got to be twenty-five years old. Finally a little tumor began to bud out of one side of the dry stalk, and mother said that her serious was going to blow ! ■ She watched it day after day, and became more certain the more she looked at it.

But father hung to it that there was no blow in it, and said that the bunch was nothing more than a vegetable boil. But he finally had to give in, and then he became interested. All the neighbors were notified, and it was agreed that as soon as the flower began to open we should ring the dinner bell, and every one would get up to see. One morning father discovered that the thing looked like cracking open, and he became so excited that he stayed home from election to water the plant and repaint the tub. That night we all sat up till midnight, but the bud didn't open; and the next night we did the same thing. But father's hope was up, and he wasn't going to let any blossom get ahead of him, although mother said that it was a shame for any sane man to make more fuss about a posy than he did about his family. So we stuck it out for five mortal nights. The sixth night the thing opened but either our clock stopped, or the plant was nonplussed by so much water and paint, for it opened at ten o'clock ! The bell was rung, and in less than ten minutes the neighbors began to tumble into our yard in all sorts of hideous garments. Father fairly danced with excitement, and said that he didn't care if all his potatoes were trampled down, for he wanted everyone to see.

Mother said that he made a fool of himself.

The next morning we were up at daylight to see it again, but it hung down like a dead rat. Father was disgusted, and said he wouldn't have a flower which didn't last longer than that. Mother said he ought to know by this time that the choicest things were always short-lived (she had always been in poor health herself), and that he had no appreciation of beauty anyway. It all made a great impression on me, and I remember that I recorded it in my spelling book as follows :

The "Sunset Plant." (See page 541).

"We played' ring 'round the rosy' When mother's cactus posy

Blowed! All the neighbors wanted seed, And expectations, like a weed, Growed l"

And even now, when I see a mournful cactus plant, I always think what a lot of sitting down will have to be done before it will blow ! - R. T. Choke.