346 State Horticultural Society. 



I was called upon to visit an orchard of 1,000 trees planted a few 

 years ago in Holt county. The trees were bought from a traveling man 

 who sold them for hardy, budded, ironclad, Simon pure stock at the 

 low price of $240 for the 1,000 trees. The buyer, poor fellow, never 

 knew whether he was cheated in the varieties, for they all died before 

 fruiting, in spite of their ironclad proclivities. This orchard never paid ! 



I know of many other orchards that have been planted with good 

 trees and good varieties that were left to make their way among rabbits, 

 borers, mules, calves and other stock, also weeds and grass that have 

 never paid and never will. 



N. F. Murray. 

 Oregon, Mo. 



MY GRANDFATHER'S ORCHARD. 



My grandfather's orchard! Ah, would I could see it 



As when in my childhood I climbed its dear trees, 



And tasted its treasures so fragrant and luscious, 



And fitted each fancy to certainly please. 



In springtime its branches with flowers were laden, 



And promised each palate e.\aclly to suit, 



When old Time had wrought, with his wonderful magic, 



The strange transformation from flower to fruit. 



The yellow June Eatings, so mellow and juicy, 



The Redstreaks, so pungently acid, for pies, 



Seek-No-Furthers, and Russets, and Pearmains, and Greenings, 



Spice Sweetings and Spies, I in memory prize, 



Each name calls up visions, both pleasant and tender. 



Of scenes that have forever passed from xny sight. 



Of fair summer days and long evenings of winter. 



Of tasks done by day, and of frolics by night. 



In autumn we gathered the apples with gladness. 

 And stored them in boxes and barrels away. 

 We buried our teeth in their fresh juicy crispness; 

 And thought the fruit harvest was nothing but play. 

 Dear trees! That they loved us we never could doubt it: 

 They ministered both to our fancies and needs. 

 Their beauty rejoiced us; we ate of their apples, 

 Our fortunes we told with the parings and seeds. 



Hesperide's gardens could not have been fairer. 

 Nor sweeter to taste their famed apples of gold; 

 Fond love grants a charm to whatever it touches, 

 That safe from Time's withering touch doth enfold. 

 So grows in ray heart my loved grandfather's orchard, 

 With blossoms and fruits ever fragrant and gay, 

 While birds in the branches are caroling sweetly. 

 And beneath them are children forever at play. 



— Ladits' Home Jourual. 



