144 



THE CA.NADIAN HORTICULTURIST. 



WITHERED FLOWERS. 



Twas on a bitter winter's day, 



I saw a strange, pathetic sight ; 

 The streets were gloomy, cold, and gray. 



The air with falling snow was white. 



A little ragged beggar child 



Went running through the cold and storm ; 

 He looked as if ho never smiled, 



As if he never had been warm. 



Sudden, he spied beneath his feet 



A faded button-hole bouquet ; 

 Trampled and wet with rain and sleet, 



Withered and worthless, there it lay. 



He bounded, seized it with delight, 

 Stood still and shook it free from snow, 



Into his coat he pinned it tight, — 

 His eyes lit uj) with sudden glow. 



He sauntered on, all pleased and proud, 

 His face transformed in every line ; 



And lingered that the hurrying crowd 

 Might chance to see that he was fine. 



The man who threw the flowers away 

 Never one-half such pletisure had ; 



The flowers' best work was done that day 

 In cheering up that beggar lad. 



Ah, me 1 too often we forget, 

 Happy in these good homes of ours, 



How many in this world are yet 

 Glad even of the withered flowers 1 



St. Nicholas. 



The Sharpless Strawberry. — I will 

 give my experience. Have only raised one 

 crop of berries, the plants being set a year 

 ago last spring. They were extra strong, 

 vigorous plants, were set in common clay 

 garden soil. The berries were the largest 

 I ever saw. They astonished every one 

 that saw them. I weighed several that 

 weighed an ounce each. Their shape is 

 irregular, but their flavor is delicious, as 

 all will testify who tasted them. 'They 

 stand up well from the ground as 

 any berry possibly could, as heavily load- 

 ed with fruit as my plants were. I filled 

 a pint cup rounding full, one day, from 

 some I had been picking, to let my neigh- 

 bours, who were present, see how many 

 berries it would take to do it ; poured 

 them out and counted them. There were 

 thirteen berries. I may say with truth, 

 there were no small berries on the vines, 

 the smallest beingl about like a medium 

 sized Wilson's Albany Seedling. I have 

 had considerable experience in the culture 

 of strawberries, but never saw anything 

 to equal the Sharpless. — Mrs. J. McRae, 

 in Frairie Farmer. 



MOUNTAIN MAHOGANY. 



A remarkable wood, known as 

 " mountain mahogany," is said to grow 

 in Nevada. A local paper thus describes 

 it : " The trees do not grow large. A 

 free with a trunk a foot in diameter is 

 much above the average. When dry 

 the wood is about as hard as box-wood, 

 and being of very fine grain might, no 

 doubt, be used for the same purposes. 

 It is of a rich red color and very heavy. 

 When well seasoned it would be a fine 

 material for the wood-carver. In the 

 early days it was used for making boxes 

 for shafting, and in a few instances for 

 shoes and dies in a quartz battery. 

 Used as a fuel it creates an intense 

 heat. It burns with a blaze as long as 

 ordinary wood w^ould last, and is then 

 found (almost unchanged in form) con- 

 verted to a charcoal that lasts about 

 twice as long as ordinary wood. For 

 fuel it sells much higher than any kind 

 of wood; indeed a cord of it always 

 brings the same price as a ton of coal. 

 The only objection to it is that it creates 

 such an intense heat as to burn out 

 stoves more rapidly than any kind 

 of coal, however bad." — Journal of 

 Science. 



JAMES YICK. 



As we go to press the telegraph 

 brings the sad intelligence that James 

 Vick, the well known and everywhere 

 esteemed horticulturist, is dead. Ameri- 

 can horticulture has lost a most de- 

 voted and enthusiastic promoter; and 

 every lover of flowers in all this broad 

 continent will feel that a much-honored 

 friend and counsellor has fallen. 



PRINTED AT THE STEAM PRESS ESTABUSHMENT OF COPP, CLARK k 00., COLBORNE BTRKET, TORONTO. 



