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FLOWER FANCIES. 
“That’s a fine garden,” said one gentleman to an¬ 
other, as they drove past our place one morning 
while I was staking my Gladiolii. “ Ye-es,” said the 
other, a Mr. Bullion, who hows in adoration to the al¬ 
mighty dollar, and whose taste is limited to tobacco 
and “ beef critters,” “ but I think that patch ’d better 
be planted to potatoes, and she a hoein’ in of ’em.” And 
he chuckled at his sagacity, and I pondered the ways 
of men, and took an inventory of my plant family to 
find Mr. Bullion’s affinity, for I often please myself by 
studying the habits and dispositions of plants and 
tracing a similarity to corresponding classes of the 
human family. For instance: Look at that bed of 
Tulips. How gorgeous ! what a self-satisfied air they 
have, and how defiantly they flaunt their gaudy colors, 
as if to challenge admiration. Are you not reminded 
of the gaudily-attired female who ransacks dry goods 
establishments, jewelry stores, and millinery .shops, in 
quest of personal adornments? Your mind follows 
her out of one place, in at another, you catch momen¬ 
tary glimpses of steady-going business men, or sober 
matrons with a gleam of reproof or indignation in their 
eyes; and one horny-handed old farmer turns to look, 
and mutters to himself, “ That’s the way the money 
goes.” It is pitiful, too. You look in her vapid, inane 
face, and you see behind those expressionless eyes 
great mental cobwebs that gather dust and hang in 
unsightly festoons in the poorly furnished attic. You 
glance at the flounces, ruffles, ribbons and laces, 
brooches, bracelets, ear-rings, and chains, at the bar¬ 
baric display generally, and with that glance you have 
fathomed the character and rendered the verdict, 
“More money than brains.” Poor human Tulip! 
But here is a contrast—they are what we used to 
call Honeysuckles, or Columbines; now they are 
named Aquilegias. How prim they are, with straight, 
stiff flower-stems surmounted by white, purple, or pink 
heads, with faces turned downward ; admiring humility, 
they clothe themselves in it and carry our thoughts 
away back to the time of our great-grandmotheis, who 
spent so many days and weeks at the loom weaving 
linen for their own households, and filling chests, 
presses,,and drawers with the work of their hands, to be 
handed down to posterity and valued as precious heir¬ 
looms. And here is a highly respectable representa¬ 
tive of the floral kingdom; it comes of a very aristo¬ 
cratic family, and is called Lilium Auratum ; when it 
was first introduced it commanded high prices, five 
dollars a bulb being readily paid for it. The florists 
all declared that no garden should be without it, and 
so all of us lady amateurs were unhappy until we pos¬ 
sessed one. But they had come from afar off country, 
and were not acclimated; some of them sent up a 
sickly little stalk, and were petted and nursed to death; 
others sent up no stalk at all, but rotted in the earth, 
heart-sick and disgusted, making no effort to live, and 
taking no thought of the care and expense that had 
been lavished upon them; perhaps one in a hundred 
had survived the perilous voyage and transplanting 
process, and made glad the hearts of their owners by 
blossoming and sending out a rare perfume, once in¬ 
haled, never forgotten. We have all seen their hu¬ 
man compeers. Some of them are university gradu¬ 
ates, who look down from the sublime heights of a 
Greek lexicon and point their fingers in disgust at a 
Roman capital. They are our lawyers, and doctors, 
and theologians, in an embryotic condition. They 
are our white-handed clerks and perfumed exquisites, 
who spring up in the social hot-bed of caste and dis¬ 
tinction. It is- the Lilium Auratum that our girls 
think of when they declare they wont marry a farmer. 
Many a young lady has made a wreck of her life by 
indulging in these expensive fancies ; too often the in¬ 
vestment has proved the counterpart of these same 
Water Lily Garden. 
Auratums. Dry rot, a failure to send up even one 
green leaf, a sickly little effort to fight the battle of 
life, and they are overcome in the unequal struggle. 
Better by far, be content with the prosy Sweet Wil¬ 
liams, and stout-hearted Hollyhocks, than to sigh 
after the unreliable Auratums. And here are the Bal¬ 
sams, so improved by cultivation that a novice would 
never dream they were the lineal descendants of the 
old-fashioned Lady’s Slipper, but here they are re¬ 
minding you of your fat, good-natured aunt sitting on 
the kitchen door-step shelling peas for dinner. 
that is about the only expression one is capable of 
making at first sight of them. The next is, “ How 
do you grow them so large ?” or, “ Why don’t you take 
them to the fair ?” My' dear friend, my ambition is 
satisfied in that respect, for I took the first premium 
at the State fair last year; and now I’ll tell you how I 
manage Pansies: I get first-class seed, and sow 
about the last of April in pans or shallow boxes in the 
house, transplanting when they have four or six leaves, 
into a bed composed of two-thirds leaf mold and one- 
third good garden soil. You see my bed is located 
where they get the shade of that young apple tree at 
midday, but far enough out to escape the drippings of 
rain or dew that fall from it; and my leaf mold is never 
composed of oak or beech leaves. Pansies and tannin 
don’t assimilate, no how. These are for fall bloom¬ 
ing. For spring flowers, I grow seed in August, and 
cover the young plants with leaves for winter protec¬ 
tion. Dahlias ? yes, born to command. Give them a 
deep, rich soil, a plenty of liquid manure, and you shall 
see regality of form and demeanor. And see my Ver¬ 
benas. I never fail of a fine show of these; and this is 
my secret: I sow the seed early in April in a shallow 
box, and do not allow the earth to become dry until 
the young plants appear. Almost every seed will 
germinate, and once they are up they are hardy 
enough, and bear transplanting with the fortitude of 
veterans. The Pansies make a fine display, but they 
are the Aldermen, the Tweeds of society; and the 
Marigolds, coarse-grained creatures of the plebeian 
origin, no amount of cultivation will ever refine them. 
They have daily intercourse with the elegant Lilies, 
the delicate Daisies, and the beautiful Roses, but none 
of their graces ever stick to the Marigolds. One is 
reminded of the old sayings, “ You can’t make a whis¬ 
tle of a pig’s tail,” “Can’t silver scour a pewter 
spoon,” etc., and you compare them to Mrs. Jones, 
who has gradually risen from the position of servant 
to be the mistress of a fine house of her own, fine fur¬ 
niture, fine dress, fine equipage, but who, although 
she has very good associates, hasn’t the tact or capa¬ 
bility of filling the position with honor to herself or 
family. Mrs. George Kator. 
MY LILY GARDEN. 
I wish to tell the readers of the Floral Cabinet 
that I had splendid success in cultivating Water Lily, 
Nymphia Odarata, last summer. The roots were sent 
me by express from Massachusetts, the 9th of June. 
I had sawed into a large barrel a rustic band of 
braided twigs, with the bark on around the top, and a 
handle of the same material. In the centre of the 
handle I placed an urn-shaped wire basket lined with 
moss and filled with earth, and some very lovely 
plants. The tub sat on a stone foundation two feet 
high; surrounding that, a mound of earth covered with 
scarlet and white Verbenas and Pansies. I filled in 
good rich soil to the depth of six inches; set out the 
roots and filled in the water gradually with a sprinkler, 
or watering-pot. I trained vines of Star Ipomse over 
the rustic handle. The 9th of August the first blos¬ 
soms opened, it was a beautiful little picture; people 
came for miles around to see it. 
Mrs. Wm. H. Mabee. 
Rustic Flower Decoration. 
Here are the Violets, too—Johnny-jump-ups, we 
used to call them; little dandies, with hair parted in 
the middle, twirling a cane and inditing verses to An¬ 
gelina Evalina, sentimental youths—they claim priori¬ 
ty of acquaintance and kinship with the royal Pansy. 
Yes, here they are, a great bed of them. “O-o-o-o-h.” 
To be sure, that’s just what everybody says—in fact 
RUSTIC FLOWER-STAND. 
A few summers since we obtained from the forest 
the top of a chestnut tree; shortened the main stem 
until four and a half feet in length, leaving five or six 
of the top branches projecting above and outward 
from three to four and a half feet. This was firmly 
inserted in the ground, fronting the house. Upon the 
main stem was placed a damaged wooden bowl of 
! eighteen inches diameter, and to each of the branches 
was attached, by screws, a pint tin basin, painted 
green. After filling with rich soil, Strawberry Gera- 
: niums, and various running plants, with fine, delicate 
foliage, were placed in each, and soon presented a beau¬ 
tiful and novel appearance. L. D. Snook. 
