sacrifices many buds. I leave my dahlias the last of September to 
the tender mercies of a farmer, who lifts them after a hard frost, 
cuts the stalks, and tips the plants over to drain off the sap. 
They go for their long winter's nap in wooden boxes, covered 
with dry earth and sand, in the cellar of a farm house "back 
country." Next season, when the sprouts appear, each tuber 
that has a sprout, should be separated from the main stalk 
and planted. Sad to relate, the rarer varities do not produce 
so many tubers as the commoner sorts, and sometimes a very 
fine one disappears. However, in spite of these occasional 
tragedies, the grower of dahlias is amply repaid for her labors 
by a wealth of bloom of unrivaled color from August until 
frost. 
Gladioli 
Just a few hints from my experience in raising gladioli 
for cut flowers. I was told by a professional grower in East 
Hartford that I should dig each hole from six to nine inches 
deep. This ensures more moisture and does away with the 
necessity of staking. He also told me to put a pinch of ground 
bone in each hole at the base of the bulb. He advised me not 
to do this, however, unless the land was mine, as the effects 
of ground bone last three years. Looking at his serious 
expression, I thought of Captain Beith's story of the two 
soldiers: "One was from Aberdeen and the other wasn't 
giving away anything either." The ground being mine, each 
year I put in bone liberally and with excellent results. I was 
also told by the same cautious individual that the gladiolus 
needs a great deal of water, being practically a water lily. 
The light loam at Weekapaug enriched each fall with 
manure makes an ideal soil for gladioli, so every summer with 
the minimum of effort I have an abundance of these wonderful 
flowers. I cannot resist mentioning a few favorite varieties : 
Mrs. Frank Pendleton, Mrs. Francis King, Europa, Augusta 
and Primulinus Hybrids. 
Mart Gray. 
Hartford Garden Club. 
" BE DEFEEENT TO TEEES." 
The talking oak 
To the ancient spoke. 
But any tree 
Will talk to me. 
But those who want to talk and tell, 
And those who will not listeners be, 
Will never hear a syllable. 
From out the lips of any tree. 
MAEY CAEOLYN DAVIES. 
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