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OUT-DOOR GARDENING IN ALABAMA. 
I have always been a passionate lover of flowers. 
When but a “ wee bit toddler ” the most pleasant 
part of the day was that spent at eventide in my 
grandmother’s vegetable garden, with its narrow 
central bed of old-fashioned flowers, Hollyhocks, 
Primroses, Sweet Williams, many-colored Four- 
o’Clocks, and other homely favorites, dear to us from 
association with childhood’s innocent pleasures, but 
now mostly relegated to obscure corners in order to 
make way for their more aristocratic foreign sisters. 
What a never-palling delight I found in stripping 
the calyx from the Primrose buds and watching the 
petals unfold, like a flash, in all their golden glory ! 
And I used to fancy that they enjoyed it as much as 
I did, and were grateful to me for hastening the 
moment of their liberation. Then the stores on 
stores of beautiful tiny cheeses afforded by the ma¬ 
tronly Hollyhocks. And I must not forget the dear 
little Heartsease, “ Little Stepmother,” as the Ger¬ 
mans call them, with their bright faces looking up 
so cheerfully, as if resolved upon doing their utmost 
to enliven and beautify the lowly station allotted to 
them in Flora’s fair domain. I look with admiration 
upon the royal Pansies, brilliant in their gorgeous 
robes of purple and gold, but they never call forth 
the thrill of tender recollection produced by the sight 
of the little, unpretending favorite of my childhood. 
When I returned from boarding-school, and set¬ 
tled down permanently to home life, I resolved to 
introduce a new element of beauty into our sweet 
but somewhat sombre “ Hermitage ”: to devote a 
portion of my newly-attained leisure to the cultiva¬ 
tion of flowers, and thus surround myself with “ all 
things fair and lovely.” We had a few varieties of 
flowering shrubs scattered about, which in the 
course of years had grown almost to the dignity of 
trees, but no space specially devoted to flowers. The 
dear old grandmother, in whose heart and home I 
had found loving room since my orphaned infancy, 
had but one defect in my eyes, and that was her 
failure to sympathize with me in my love for these 
frail children of the soil. In vain I quoted to her, 
“ Your voiceless lips, 0 flowers, are living teachers ; 
each cup a pulpit, every leaf a book,” etc. Her 
nicely-kept lawn, with its noble evergreens, was the 
pride of her heart, and she insisted that flowers did 
not pay for the trouble of cultivating. 
Finally, however, after much coaxing, she consent¬ 
ed to allow me a spot on the lawn for my “ experi¬ 
ment,” as she called it, provided none of her cherish¬ 
ed trees were sacrificed. I soon selected the location 
I considered best suited to my purpose, a plot of 
ground once shaded by a giant oak ; but this had been 
blown down during a violent storm some years ago, 
and its place was now occupied by a thriving young 
magnolia. My first step was to draw a diagram of 
my future garden; so I went to work with paper 
and pencil and dashed off a most elaborate net¬ 
work of beds and walks. The services of the color¬ 
ed magnate of the vegetable garden had been plac¬ 
ed at my disposal, so I soon had the pleasure of see¬ 
ing “ Uncle Ned ” hard at work with “ the shovel 
and the hoe,” throwing up beds and levelling walks, 
while I stood by, paper in hand, stopping him, every 
few minutes, to make corrections or suggest im¬ 
provements. I suppose I must have tried his 
patience sorely, for after an hour or two he suddenly 
straightened himself up, and, extending his hand, 
said, “ See here, missie, you jes gimme that paper, and 
go in de house ’long o’ old miss, and I’ll fix it all 
right fer you.” I meekly obeyed, and walked off, 
leaving him to his own devices. The next day he 
announced that the beds were ready for the plants, 
so I started out to beg contributions from my neigh¬ 
bors. The lady at whose house I called first pro¬ 
fessed herself delighted to accommodate me. 
“ Would you like to have some Crape Myrtle ?” 
“ Oh ! no, thanks ; we have several, twenty feet and 
more in height, scattered about on the lawn.” 
“Cape Jessamine These, too, I declined, as we 
had about half a dozen, and as she had nothing 
else I bade her good morning and started again, 
hoping for better success on my next call. Let me 
remark, en passant, that these two, Crape Myrtle 
and Cape Jessamine, are the standard flowering 
shrubs in Southern country homes. They are found 
everywhere, and everywhere they bestow added loveli¬ 
ness. Even the roughest log cabin loses something 
of its bleakness when embowered in clouds of rosy 
bloom, while the delightful fragrance exhaled from 
the waxen petals of the Cape Jessamine offers a 
pleasant greeting to the passer-by. They are of the 
easiest culture, and exceedingly tenacious of life, par¬ 
ticularly the Crape Myrtle ( Lagerstrcemia ). It will 
live and thrive in situations where even a bramble 
would die of starvation. I have seen it growing lux¬ 
uriantly in clay gullies by the roadside, where the 
branches had been carelessly thrown in from a gar¬ 
den near by. 
But to return. I made several calls, with varying 
success, and upon reaching home, and taking an in¬ 
ventory of my acquisitions, I found mj-self the happy 
possessor of about twenty-five plants, consisting 
principally of “ slips ” or cuttings of Roses, Spireas, 
Oleanders, Forsythia or Golden Bell, Purple Magno¬ 
lia, two varieties of double Pomegranate, scarlet and 
lemon, together with a few hardy bulbs, Jonquils, 
Hyacinths, etc. Uncle Ned’s services were again 
called into requisition to dig the holes for me, and 
before night my plants were all in the ground. But 
there was still space for more, so I concluded to send 
to a florist for his ten-dollar collection. In about two 
weeks they arrived, and I could scarcely wait to 
have the box opened. Such lovely plants ! and not a 
leaf broken or withered. Two or three of the Roses 
and Carnations had buds on them. Besides these there 
were Fuchsias, Heliotropes, Geraniums, Verbenas, 
Pansies, Petunias, and many others too numerous 
to mention. They were “ too lovely for anything.” 
But at the height of my excitement and admira¬ 
tion my enthusiasm received a momentary check, as 
a little cousin, who was standing by, exclaimed: 
“ Cousin Bell, what is this weed doing among your 
flowers ? ” 
“ That is an Ageratum Mexicanum, you unculti¬ 
vated little heathen ! ” I answered, looking at the 
label. 
“Well, if it is a Nagerater Exicanderm, there’s 
lots of them in the woods round the school-house,” 
she retorted, her little nose “ tip-tilted ” in disdain, 
as she glanced at the poor Ageratum. 
The hundred plants contained in the box filled 
out my beds nicely, and now that mg part of the 
work was done, I watched impatiently for signs of 
growth; but, alas ! one after another they succumbed 
to the scorching sunshine, until by the last of June 
I had scarcely a “ rose to tell where the garden had 
been.” I was so disappointed at my failure that I 
had almost resolved never to make another attempt 
at cultivating flowers, when, one bright day, auntie 
came from her distant home to pay us a visit. Now, 
this same auntie was, like myself, a passionate lover 
of flowers, but, unlike poor me, was very successful 
in their culture. Knowing this, the second day of 
her visit I took her to see my garden, and begged 
her to tell me the cause of my failure. 
“You commenced wrong,” she replied; “in the 
first place, your garden is surrounded on two sides 
by huge trees, whose roots, I have no doubt, tra¬ 
verse the entire space, and absorb the moisture and 
nourishment which should support your flowers. 
Then, instead of thoroughly breaking up and enrich¬ 
ing the soil, you only scraped the surface, and de¬ 
posited your plants in holes dug in the hard ground. 
No wonder the poor things became discouraged and 
died under such treatment. Now, I would advise 
you to select some other place, away from these 
trees ; and don’t undertake too much at first — it is 
better to add a bed or two as occasion demands. 
Then spade up the soil to the depth of a foot, at 
least, and enrich it thoroughly. If you will give it 
just the same culture that your grandmother bestows 
upon her vegetable garden, you will be apt to suc¬ 
ceed as well as she does. Keep the soil open by 
constant stirring, so that the air can penetrate it, 
and don’t allow the weeds to creep up around your 
plants •, they will soon overrun and perish them out.” 
“ Thank you, auntie; and now please tell me 
what to plant, what varieties will best endure our 
long, parching summers.” 
“ I am afraid you are disposed to make the cli¬ 
mate responsible for your own shortcomings, but never 
mind that now. Of course you want a succession 
of bloom ; well, first on the list come the spring 
bulbs, Jonquils, Narcissus, Snowdrops, Hyacinths, 
Daffodils, etc. Plant these in September, and you 
will have flowers through January, February, and 
March. Then come the Tea-Roses, Summer Pinks, 
Verbenas, Phloxes, and Petunias, the last two from 
seed planted in the fall, or after the first year self- 
sown. In May and June comes on the whole army 
of Roses, with the tender annuals, such as Zinnias 
and Balsams; and, by the way, I think there is 
nothing prettier than a well-trained Double Balsam. 
Keep the shoots pinched off, so that the leaves do 
not conceal the beautiful rose-like blooms. I take 
off all the side-shoots, or leave only three or four; 
either way they are lovely. There is one charming 
little annual that I must not forget, the Portulaca. 
This needs a situation partly shaded, or the flowers 
will close up in the afternoon. There cannot be a 
bit of more gorgeous coloring than a bed of mixed 
Portulacas in full bloom. You must, by all means, 
