24 STATE HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY. 



Another week brings signs of other leaves, and up come your 

 hopes again ; but the kings and queens of the barnyard are seized 

 with a desire for an earth-bath, and out come your rose-bushes, root 

 and branch. You chase away the " Goths," only to make room for 

 the '■ vandals," for you relax your vigil an hour to attend some other 

 duty, and, returning, you find that the young dog (age anywhere from 

 six weeks to three months) has gone mole-hunting in your pansy-bed, 

 and then laid himself down amid the coolness of your ferns to medi- 

 tate upon the ruin he has wrought. 



If, perchance, one or two plants surmount all these obstacles 

 (which is not probable) and put forth an effort to bloom, the baby 

 nips that effort in the bud, and you turn your attention exclusively to 

 potted plants, firmly convinced that the lawn is not your field of labor. 



Now, the moral of my "tale of woe" may be summed up in three 

 " dont's : " 



First — Don't be deceived by high-sounding advertisements. 



Second — Don't send away for what you can buy at home. 



Third — If you mean to have a flower-garden, donH set your heart 

 on poultry, pigs or puppies ; for I think Owen Meredith had just tried 

 all together when he sang — 



"The man who seeks one thing In life, and but one. 

 May hope to achieve It before life be clone; 

 But lie who seeks all things, wherever he goes, 

 Only reaps from the hopes which around him he sows, 

 A harvest of barren regrets. ' ' 



