348 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



JXJLY 



tell the cause and remedy, andmucli oblige a care- 

 ful reader of your valuable paper for twelve years ? 

 Acicorth, iV. H., May, 1868. H. "W. c. 



Remarks. — Without seeing your plant it would 

 be rather difficult to answer the question. The 

 verbena is generally considered a difficult plant to 

 keep in good health through the winter. It is very 

 apt to be troubled with insects or mildew, and die 

 oflF. Breck, in his "Book of Powers" says :— 



"The verbefta is kept with difficulty through the 

 winter, except in the green-house or in warm 

 rooms; unless kept growing, it will perish. It 

 cannot therefore be kept even in a dry cellar, and 

 it is not hardy enough to stand the winter. Most 

 of the varieties are easily raised from cuttings, 

 and can be purchased at so small a price from 

 florists, that it is by far the more economical to 

 buy a few dozen in the spring than attempt to keep 

 them through the winter. 



We think the great trouble with your plant is 

 that it has been kept in the house too long. Set it 

 it out in your garden, and it may recover. Ed. 



HOUSEHOLD ECONOMY. 



CONTRIBUTED FOR THE NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



This is a thing that can be remedied. 1 have tried 

 it with entire success. Make your paste as usual, 

 and then mix in a little pepper, and there will be 

 no more damage in that way. 



Mrs. Osher Hale. 

 Glastenhury, Conn., April 27, 1868. 



Mr. Editor : — I have read the receipts in your 

 paper, but do not recollect that any describe the 

 Vermont mode of making milk emptyings bread. 

 Perhaps the receipt may be acceptable to some of 

 the readers of the Farmer. 



Emptyings. 



Take a cup of warm sweet milk, add one cup 

 boiling hot water, a little salt, flour enough to 

 make a thin batter, and set the mixture in a warm 

 place to rise, two table spoons of flour added after 

 the lapse of two hours will help it to rise. 



The Bread. 



When the emptyings have risen, warm four 

 quarts sweet milk, stir in the emptyings, and one- 

 half spoon of soda, with flour enough for a stiff 

 batter, let it rise an hour, then mould and put in 

 tins, and rise twenty minutes, bake in a hot oven. 

 Percie Barton. 



VermoTit, April, 1868. 



PreserviDK Wall Paper. 

 I saw in your last issue an inquiry of some one 

 from Somerset, Mass., "how can wall paper be 

 preserved from the ravages of the worm," &c. 



For the New England Farmer, 

 THE LXLAC. 



BT ANNE G. HALE. 



Breeze, ever buoyant. In garden of beauty 



Sporting with sunbeams and showers, — 

 DrinkiDg the dews of the lily bell's chalice, 



Stealing the breath of the flowers, 

 Cease thy wild wanderings, come to my casement I 



See 1 I fling open the pane I 

 Long have I listened to hear at the lattice 



The sound of thy pinions again. 



Not the sweet perfume the violet lends thee, 



Crushed by thy gentlest caress. 

 Nor all the odors unnumbered, untested, 



Sumnner's gay sisterhood bless. 

 Can to my craving heart yield such a pleasure,— 



Peace, consolation, can bring. 

 As the rich fragrance, unlaunched on my senses, 



Waiting thy frolicsome wing. 



Lightly uplifting the lilac's frail thyrses, 

 Drooping with fulness of life. 



Bring me the odors she holds in her keeping- 

 Odors with vanished hopes rife. 



Verdant the leaflets she spreads to the sunshine. 

 Fair the sweet blossoms she rears; 



How the dim past as I gaze on her beauty 

 In its old glory appears I 



Years counted up by their burdens of sorrow, 



Flee from sad memory's grasp ; 

 Once more, again, in the shade of the lilac. 



Hands long departed I clasp ; 

 Voices with those of the angels now blending, 



Hear I to-day as of yore. 

 Singing, as then, all their songs of affection 



Where the sweet hlac droops o'er. 



Music more holy than anthems that echo 



Through the cathedral's dim aisles. 

 Seem the glad greetings recalled by that viaion. 



Dearer than Heaven their smiles, 

 Haste, for the flowerets are fading and dying. 



Waft me one sigh ere they fall I 

 Sacred 'twill be as the perfume of chapleta 



Hiding the gloom of the pall. 



