CHAPTER VII 



SUCH STUFF AS BLOOMS ARE MADE OF 



"I sometimes think that never grows so red 

 The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled: 

 That every Hyacinth the garden wears 



Dropt in her lap from some once lovely head." 



The old singing tent-maker of Persia had dis- 

 covered some utilization for dead Caesars before 

 it occurred to Shakespeare that they might be 

 used in chinks to keep the wind away! 



It may seem something of a sacrilege to quote 

 that beautiful conception of the Persian poet as 

 an introduction to a chat on the interesting 

 subject of plant food, fertilizers, and manures; 

 but, after all, poetry pertains to anything that 

 goes on in a greenhouse. 



In the last chapter we talked about the physi- 

 cal make-up of soil — how it is necessary to get 

 it right to have plants grow right. But in addi- 

 tion to good soil conditions, plants need some- 

 thing more. They need food. What makes 

 plant food.'^ And how do plants eat? 



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