THE HOMES OF SOME OF OUR FRIENDS. 391 



blossoms, stone, etc., of native kinds of plums. Mr. Lord is evi- 

 dently an earnest and perseveringly patient student in the pomo- 

 logical school of the Northwest, and the future will find itself much 

 indebted to him. The neighboring creek furnishes facilities for ir- 

 rigating a portion at least of his grounds, and Mr. Lord and a son 

 who has elected to follow in his father's footsteps are considering 

 the advantages of its use. 



Mid-afternoon found our party tailing along towards Winona at 

 the rear end of a freight train, which we hoped would land us duly 

 at La Crescent, the home of our redoubtable Mr. Harris. To this 

 extent our plans were upset — the freight wouldn't stop for us there, 

 and we wouldn't jump, and so we delayed in Winona for the regular 

 passenger — and we are glad we did. At the outset we saved $3.00 by 

 not hiring a rig to drive about and see the sights; then we saw an 

 architect's dream in a church of dazzling white stone, of which our 

 new state capitol is not to be made, for the reason that there is not 

 enough in sight to insure a finished job — and that ought to be the 

 only reason; we saw the foundations of a classical model of a build- 

 ing we righlly guessed was to be a public library; we went down 

 to the river bank to admire the fragile iron work that spans for pub- 

 lic way this beautiful stream and guess the height of the lofty and 

 graceful water tower — and time slipped by very easily this lovely 

 August afternoon. 



Fortune favored us at last, horticulturally, in our saunterings, and 

 we ran up against C. W. Merritt, of Homer, a member of our society, 

 who makes fruit growing on a considerable scale his sole business. 

 Fortunately for my readers I have forgotten most of the tiresome 

 figures he gave us, but I was surprised into remembering that a 

 relative of his, a Mr. Ailing, of the same place, sold this season 225 

 bushels of cherries, and he himself had gathered also a good many 

 bushels of the English Morello, Ostheim, Dyehouse, Montmorency 

 and other kinds. Is this then a new world, I thought, or have not 

 we given this fruit a fair trial in other parts of the state? 



As we shall leave Winona very soon on the passenger, I will stop 

 to say that Homer is a little village and station a few, perhaps six, 

 miles (figures in this article, as you will remember, are not to be ac- 

 curate) below Winona. As we slow through the village in the gath. 

 ering twilight we can see the rows of fruit trees on either hand, 

 though mostly on the side away from the river, which is only ten or 

 fifteen rods distant and thirty feet below. Many of these are evi- 

 dently cherry trees. Are these then the conditions under which 

 cherries most thrive? — but they are doing equally well, we are told, 

 on Mr. Merritt's place, which is high up on the top of the bluffs. 

 And so, ought we not to try these fruits further along the water 

 sides or on the high lands, which seem to offer the best conditions? 

 Early dusk found us at La Crescent station, and we climbed hastily 

 out of the cars and up the bank to the highway which skirts the 

 bluff just above the track for a mile, till it turns to the rightinto this 

 village of the "bye and bye," while the train speeds on across the 

 river into La Crosse, whose lights glitter in the distance. Darkness 

 is well upon us as a inile beyond the village we go down a hill and 



