It is interesting to watch the fluctuations in tastes and diversity of opinions as they go and come in connection with flowers. So changeable are we that at one time we are found admiring a plant, and soon after passing it as unworthy of note.

I have just been reading an article on the single dahlia, in which the author says the dahlia was accommodating in the hands of ambitious florists. It doubled and doubled until it became as full, formal, stiff, and gigantic as possible. But later on a change occurred in popular taste. Double flowers palled, and the more simple forms of them were sought out. Fashion, very sensible for once, declared in favor of the single daisies, asters, and dogwood, and he might have added single dahlias. Reforms were taken up in all directions, and so he goes on. Now, the question is, are those reforms wise or desirable to the extent suggested? Should we cast away our old familiar and favorite flowers that have been held in high esteem for many years in the past? I am sure they will be regarded for many years to come.

But my intention is not to find fault with plaudits of any flower; merely to call attention to the curious freaks that human tastes are subject to. They turn and return to the same thing. A plant at one time in the highest estimation, lost, revived again with renewed honors a few years later.

To produce a double flower in any class has always been the height of a gardener's ambition. And double flowers have been appreciated by the whole community. A double flower always took precedence. There is no doubt this is an extreme view. There are many single flowers which, for distinctness of color and exquisite lines, will always be held in admiration. But in general, double flowers, I think, will always have the preference. Double flowers are extra efforts of nature, and we may admire them just in the same ratio that we admire an elaborate piece of mechanical work from the hand of man. The fact is that the simplicity of the design enables many to trace and grasp wherein the beauty lies, - whereas in the double forms the work is more intricate, and requires a higher education to be able to balance and distinguish the details of the subject.

Single dahlias, I admit, are very beautiful in their chaste lines and colors; but when we look into the double forms and note the more extensive formation with the same distinctness, - their petals so regularly set, - we must allow them the preference. It may be (as it is) called stiffness by some, but I fail to see it in that light. For many years past the perfect formation of a flower has been the great criterion by which judgment has been given of their merits; and I am sure will hold its own for many a day to come.

I do not wish to be thought as condemning single flowers; but I do so when it is with the intention of degrading other old favorites, such as the double dahlia. I only wish to show where such notions will carry us, not only in this but in many things. How often do we see plants discarded for years, even lost, and yet reappear in popular appreciation, as if they had never been abandoned. Is fickleness a law of nature? For the advancement of the profession it is perhaps well it should be so to some extent. There is an old saying and often true, that changes are lightsome and fools are fond of them; but I would say it in another form for this subject, changes are lightsome, and we all should be fond of them when they do not detract from the merits of old floral friends. Give us the single dahlia, I say, or any other single flower. It need not interfere with our love for the double ones.

Freaks of fancy are all the more curious because they have generally tended to detract trom their parent forms. At the present day single roses are the applauded; but who would dare to place them on the same level or as superior to the double? No one will try this, I am sure.

There are many freaks of fancy just as curious in regard to other matters in connection with plants as this. When a new plant is first introduced with the slightest deviation from its parent, it receives signal praise over its predecessor, because it is slightly different, though without any mark of superiority, just because it can be called a new one, and for a time may carry one away by mere novelty. But eventually novelty palls. We appear to hold, as the Scotchman does, that all new things are bonnie (pretty). This is not always true when compared justly with the older ones. The aspiration to acquire new things is perhaps one of the best traits any one can have. I love it because the effort gives you personal insight into the merits of the novelty and enables you to judge for yourself, and satisfies a craving to see that which we have heard of. I have no blame to attach to parties recommending novelties. In many instances they may see beauty in their productions which we cannot. It is thus in every line we follow, and so we must put up with it, I suppose, to the end.