HOW MAY I DO IT, TOO;— GRAFTING 



green and yellow valley, rise the white peaks 

 of the high Sierras two hundred miles away, 

 their summits forever clothed in snow, keeping 

 watch above their lower mountain wards and 

 over the fair valley below. Just across the 

 valley over the roof-tops of Santa Rosa you 

 may see the low hills of Sebastopol ; — there 

 lie the acres which have given scope for the 

 great work of Mr. Burbank. Here is the 

 culmination of the tests, the great proving 

 grounds where the final standard is set up, 

 alongside of which the flower or fruit must 

 measure itself or be doomed to death. 



On these grounds, reaching eighteen acres in 

 extent, the grafting of trees and the raising of 

 seedlings goes on from year to year, as well 

 as very much extensive work in pollenating 

 and selection. And the scale on which these 

 things are carried forward is larger than any 

 ever before known in the history of the world. 



A sunny, beautiful spot it is, far from city 

 sounds and strifes, lying softly asleep in the 

 golden sunshine with the fair hills beyond, 

 purple or crimson or yellow or white as the 

 summer flowers come on in never-ending 

 procession. Asleep it is, and yet awake, 



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