THE 



Caqadiai] Jiorticulturist. 



Vol. XI. 



1B85. 



No. 1. 





1888. 



BY ORANDMA OOWAN, MOTNT ROYAL VALK, MONTREAL. 



s 



WEET BELLS, I liear thy solemn tone, 

 Whicli tells us the Old Year is gone ! 

 (lone with its many hopes and fears ! 

 Gone with the myriad fleeting years, 



To the vast unknown ! 



Like an ice-bound brook, our unseen tears 

 Flow sadly over our wasted years. 

 And joys we've known, no more to know. 

 All feel like pictures made on snow. 



In days by-gone 



And now we welcome the new born king, 

 The transient monarch of restless wing ; 

 Earth's guest i.s here, young Eighty-eight. 



God bless the aerial potentate 



THE IRIS. 



"Thou art the Iris, fair among the fairest, 



Who, armed with golden rod 

 And winged with the celestial azure, bearest 



The message of some God." 



— Longfelloir. 



THE POET who sang so beauti- 

 fully of the Flower-de-luce has 

 passed away, but the subject of his 

 song still remains, one of the most 



interesting of our summer flowers. It 

 was the favorite flower of Louis VII., 

 who, after he had distinguished himself 

 in the Second Crusade, had it engraved 

 upon the arms of his country, emble- 

 matic, no doubt, of his belief tliat he 

 was on a Heaven-sent mission. Hence 

 it was called Fleur de, Louis, which has 



