150 The Canadian Horticulturist. 



HERRIED THOUGHTS {frae Mr. Croil). 



T~^EAR friend, I'd like to say a word, 

 1^1 Anent your pithy letter; * 

 ]^ 'Twas quite the sort, for our " Can. Hort'," 

 It could'na get a better, 



I'll close my een, and think I see 

 Your well-kept, lovely garden ; 

 And if I haiver f for a while 

 You'll no be mad ; guid Maister Croil, 

 But gie old Gran your pardon. 



I'll tak my staff and daunderj west, 

 For nature age is grand to me ; 

 Trellised bowers, and bonny flowers 

 My heart aye dances when I see ! 



I love the sons o' Adam's craft ; 



A fear nought stalwart member, 



Just such as Croil, give him tools and soil. 



He'd raise the "Witch o' Endor ! 



And make her grow, if she will or no, 



A lovely Oleander. 



Ah ! here is beans, dwarf German- beans, 

 All else is a delusion ; 



Gie beans to weans ! they make strong banes, 

 I"ll grow them in profusion. 



There's cabbage, that ne'er fails to head, 

 They may be soon or late ; 

 " Empress " I'l! try, I'll tell you why ; 

 I hate an empty pate. 



Here's Imperial beets, of pure blue blood , 

 Royal, so I see ; 



I'll sow royal seed, I shall indeed. 

 Republic tho' I be. 



Ah lovely celery for compound ! 



Celery ! there's enough ! 



Graceful as a lady's fan. 



Crisp and tender, pale and wan. 



As e'er sprung frae the Sheugh || 



Celery, says Dr. Paine, will " build the forces o' the brain, 



(Even tho' we are born wi' nane !) 



* See page lo. + Haiver, speak nonsense. I Daunder, walk leisurely. |1 Sheugh, a ditch. 



