IiOUlE. 
BY MRS. LUCY DEWEY CLAY. 
[Written by request on the death of Louie Ellwood, 
of Clarkston, Michigan ] 
Into our small home circle 
There came a treasure rare; 
We gave her warmest welcome 
We gave her tenderest care. 
And day by day our blossom, 
All fairer, lovlier grew; 
Her hair so bright and golden 
Her eyes of ether blue, 
Her life so pure and sinless, 
Her heart so full of love, 
It seemed that unseen angels 
Smiled on her from above. 
So we watched our beauteous flower 
Unfolding into bloom; 
And we loved her, oh, so fondly— 
Sweet sunlight of our home. 
Japan Lily, petunia, tritoma, hollyhock? 
zinnia and stock. 
The tropselum in variety is my pride. 
Delicate, fragrant, flonferous, continuous, 
it asks the poorest soil you can afford, and 
just enough culture to pull out the inter¬ 
loping weeds. It will not do to call it nas¬ 
turtium (which it is not), nor to allow that 
its seeds are fit for pickles, if you wish to 
make it popular. But examine these beds,, 
and tell me if for gayety and sweetness 
they can be surpassed—hues varying from 
brightest scarlet, orange-yellow, and deep 
crimson, to mauve and lemon and spotted; 
always a sheet of bloom; always a rich 
green bed of vegetation for ground. Pick 
all you care for; the beds are never ex¬ 
hausted. I would rather have a handful of 
Into our home of earth-love 
A strange wierd presence crept; 
By day it hovered o’er us, 
Twas with us when we slept. 
It breathed upon our darling, 
Our flowret fair and frail; 
Her soft blue eye was brighter, 
But her cheek grew thin and pale. 
Oh, wildly we besought it 
To leave us, but in vain; 
’Twas weaving, surely weaving 
Its silent, mystic chain. 
Again it breathed upon her 
its chilling, icy breath, 
And our beautiful, our sainted 
Lay still and cold in death. 
In a land all bright and glorious. 
Beneath a cloudless sky, 
Where hopes are never withered 
And flowers never die. 
There’s a group of heavenly angels, 
A white-robed cherub throng, 
Their spirit voices ringing 
In sweet seraphic song:. 
They pause, with gaze enraptured, 
Their etherial faces shine, 
As borne on spirit pinions 
Comes another form divine. 
And with smiles all bright and radiant 
Reach forth their pearly hands, 
And amid the shining angels 
Our darling Louie stands. 
Summer Flowers. 
For every man’s garden, the plants for 
satisfaction, continuous bloom and ease of 
culture are, after the rose, the perennial 
phlox, the gladiolus, the tropaeolum, the 
geranium, the aster, the Sweet William, 
GLADIOLUS. 
these refreshing, cheerful and sweet flow¬ 
ers than a peck of dahlias. Art has im¬ 
proved the varieties, until not only in color;, 
but in shading, lining spottings and tints,, 
the tropaeolum rivals the carnation: in del¬ 
icacy it surpasses that flower. I always re¬ 
serve two or three beds without manure, 
and of the poorest soil for my favorite; for 
