182 STATE HORTTCftTLTURAL SOCIETY. 



sorts. Every plant, but one, bore double flowers, and all were as fra- 

 grant as the best carnations. But the plants do not withstand so 

 great a degree of cold in winter. 



The Feverfew with its miniature snow-balls is not surpassed for 

 constancy of bloom. Its season of bloom is all summer if occasionally 

 cut back to induce new growth. 



Sweet Alyssum for bed or border is always laden with bloom and 

 perfume, modest and unassuming, but always reminding you of a hand- 

 ful of flowers lying on the ground. 



When I mention the wonderful Chrysanthemum, many will think I 

 have retained the best for the latter part of my collection, but you will 

 observe my theme is bedding plants, and by that I am to be confined ta 

 bedding plants for an out-door latitude. While the Chrysanthemum is 

 even more hardy than some plants mentioned in my list, I object to its 

 stubborn habit of never blooming until its time comes, and that time 

 coming only when the first frosts of October remind us of the desire 

 of our friend to come indoors. But once in quarters, the Chrysanthe- 

 mum is a marvel indeed. Monster flowered or Tom Thumb varieties^ 

 fringed or incurved, all are remarkable or beautiful beyond description^ 



Tne Lemon Verbena, not for bloom but for the easy culture of the 

 plant and its generous distribution of odor, is indispensable. 



I retain the Marguerite or Paris daisy because of its persistent 

 habit of carrying all the flowers the plant can hold, and because of its 

 thrift and vigorous growth even to the end of the year. 



Charles I. Eobards. 



A FEW CHAPTERS ON MULCHING. 



Walking through the woods in my boyhood I, came one day 

 to the head of a ravine where my feet sank deeply into a carpet of dead 

 leaves which had accumulated for years. Neither cattle nor swine had 

 disturbed this nature's coverlet, and looking around, I noticed trees and 

 vines growing in utmost profusion and vigor. Pushing the leaves aside,^ 

 there lay beneath a soft, rich, porous mold, filled with roots. It set me 

 to thinking. On another hillside, where for years cattle had trampled 

 down or browsed on the underbrush, until it gave way to blue-grass, 

 the sturdy oaks and other trees were showing signs of decay, and one 

 by one they died. Some said the cold winters killed them. Perhaps 

 so, but more probable is it that the cold winters merely put a finishing 

 touch to their starved and diseased bodies, a condition which summer's 



