260 TRANSACTIONS OP THE HORTICULTUEAL 



drowned out by excessive rains. One season I had a block two acres 

 in size, of the Charles Downing, heaved np by the frost, though the 

 plants were heavily covered with straw, so that not one quart of 

 fruit was matured in the entire block. Alongside of this block were 

 two rows of a new variety that yielded at the rate of 5,000 quarts 

 per acre of well-formed fruit. We called her the coming berry, and 

 she came; and now some are inquiring in a quiet way, trill she go? 

 While a large majority are diligently searching for a suitable mate, 

 her equal in vigor and productiveness, that they may marry and 

 bring forth strawberries in abundance. And then what? Perhaps 

 some blessing more potent than the Crown Borer, Leaf Roller and 

 the rust combined, in disguise, to stimulate thought and continue 

 harmonious activity of mind and hand in this delightful branch of 

 our calling. 



"A bird in the hand is worth two on the bush" is not always 

 true. One day this spring, when the buds were sufficiently advanced 

 to distinguish blossoms from leaf buds, I took a walk through my 

 skeleton of an orchard, and following a fragmentary row of Jona- 

 thans, looked for signs of coming fruit. 1 was somewhat disap- 

 pointed when I saw none; but an afterthought said a kind Provi- 

 dence proposes to give these trees a year's rest from fruit-bearing; 

 that they may heal up some of the many wounds made by the Buf- 

 falo Beetle, and regain some of their former vigor impared by the 

 severity of the past winters. So I was compelled to change the 

 motto, or make a new one. " Two birds in the bush may build a 

 nest." 



As I sit by my open window writing these pages a call comes 

 from the oriole from out the apple blossoms, it seems a call from 

 way up, so pure, sweet and rich in tone; a call from toil to the spirit 

 of song, to the spirit of fruit and of flowers; to the Great Spirit 

 that originates and animates all spring life. The thrush strikes up 

 his inimitable notes from the cherry orchard, helping to a grateful 

 communion with Highest Life. I am startled by a gruff voice, say- 

 ing: " I see two chipmunks on your lawn, better drown them out, 

 they will eat up your corn." 



They eat grasshoppers and field mice. One pair can kill as 

 many mice as a cat, and they do so the summer through. '' I see 

 your cherry orchard is full of birds, they will make away with your 

 cherries. I'd shoot the birds and kilj the bothered chipmunks." He 

 is gone, and I feel better. He is not a horticulturist. He has been 

 known to spend hours, with shot-gun in hand, destroying the thrush, 

 the catbird and the robin, that he might have more than his share 

 of sour, wormy cherries. He has eaten and worked with this kind 

 of fruit until his face has assumed a sour pucker. He carries this 

 face to his wife and children, and even when he sits in church you 

 can see the corners of his mouth weighed down. A sour stomach 

 would be a penalty most natural for getting more than his share of 



