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A FLOWER STORY. 
BY DAISY BURNS. 
Two young girls sat alone under the Clematis, one 
was a blue-eyed lass with a mass of sunny ringlets 
falling around her mild sweet face, which, when the 
sun shone on them, seemed transformed into an auricle 
of glory. This was Minnie May. The other was a 
brunette with sparkling black eyes, and of straight 
black hair. Her rosy cheeks were dimpled with a 
bright smile which her restless vivacious nature 
seemed to call there. She . was quick and impetuous 
in mind, mood and manner. That was Ethel Vane. 
“ And now, Ethel dear,” said Minnie, “we are quite 
alone, I want you to tell me why you dislike my 
betrothed.” 
“ Oh, Minnie, 1. don’t dislike Harry Martin, I only 
think him effeminate, I like noble men.” 
“ So do I,” said Minnie, “ and Harry is noble. He 
is no book hero I know, but he is an every day one. 
Why do you think he is effeminate ? ” 
“ Why Minnie, he works his mother’s flowers, makes 
bouquets and really he loves flowers better than any one 
I ever saw.” 
“ And for that reason you term him effeminate. Oh, 
Ethel! it is only another proof of his nobility.” 
“ Very noble indeed to pull up weeds and grass, and 
scratch in the dirt, ain’t it ? ” 
“It’s like you to try to make it ridiculous, but the 
nobility is in the heart,,” said Minnie, “it makes us 
nobler to love the beautiful; and don’t you know it 
pleases God to see us love and cultivate these beauties 
he has placed here for our enjoyment? I am glad 
Harry loves them, it will double my pleasure if he can 
but see them as I do, and ’twill be sweet if be loves 
them with me.” 
“ It does well enough,” said Ethel, “ for women to 
talk about flowers, I love them, I love to work with and 
cultivate them and I love to talk about them, but I do ' 
not love to see men bothering with such little things.” 
“Yes,” said Minnie, “ and ’‘little things on little 
wings bear little souls to Heaven .’ ” 
“ Flowers were only put here for the enjoyment of 
the weaker sex,” said Ethel. 
“I’d like to know on what you base that theory,” 
said Minnie, smiling. “ No, it does my heart good to 
know that 1 will be mated with a lover of the beauti¬ 
ful. Think of the many pleasant hours we will pass 
in our garden. It is to be a perfect paradise; we have 
drawn off the plans and some of the beds are to be 
beautiful. Harry will get me a collection of roots this 
fall, then in the spring I will sow my annuals. Come to 
see me next summer and I will show you the effect of 
the love of flowers on man. A woman stands a poor 
chance—no matter how well she loves flowers—if her 
husband cares naught for them, either to enjoy or 
cultivate them, who will make her walks, her beds, 
her frames, etc. To be sure, if she is able she can 
hire it done, but they are not so nice as if her husband 
had made them.” 
“ George and I will have flowers too,” said Ethel, 
“but I don’t intend he shall work them, with the 
assistance of a little hired help, I can have them with¬ 
out his pottering with them. He thinks its all non¬ 
sense any way. He thinks a saucer of strawberries or 
ice cream is much more beautiful than the costliest 
bouquet that can be made.” 
“ Harry’s taste and mine,” said Minnie, “ are the 
same; ours will be a perfect union of thought, taste 
and feelings, and when you see the lovely home we 
will have, you will wish George had this ‘ effeminate,’ 
trait as you term it which Harry has.” 
The two girls were eventually married. Minnie 
May to Harry Martin, and Ethel Vane to George Har¬ 
wood. They went to housekeeping many miles dis¬ 
tant from each other, and for three years did not meet. 
At the expiration of that time, Minnie with her little 
boy paid Ethel a visit. The first day was passed in a 
talk of old times, the next day Minnie asked Ethel 
to show her her flowers. Ethel led the way into the 
yard, Minnie looked at the broken bushes, the tangled 
vines, the honeysuckle frames laying flat on the ground, 
the weak looking geraniums and heliotropes, and 
thought of her own flourishing plants at home which 
Harry was to take care of during her absence. 
“Now, let us look at your garden,” said Minnie. 
“I have no garden, I wanted one badly but could 
hire no one to do my work.” 
Harry came for his wife at last, and the next year 
Ethel returned Minnie’s visit. It was toward the close 
of June when she made her visit, and when she first 
looked into Minnie’s 1 yard, carpeted with the most 
velvety of green grass, her heart ached as she thought 
of what she had left behind. The honeysuckle frames 
were white and erect, each bush seemed strong and 
firm and was covered with the loveliest roses, and here 
and there she saw floating in the breeze various kinds 
of hanging baskets of Ivy, Smilax, Wandering Jew, etc. 
The house was white, and the portico being covered 
with green vines gave it a still fresher look, altogether 
Ethel thought it the sweetest home she ever saw. 
When she. entered the house she still saw beauty in 
the tastefully arranged cut flowers placed through the 
house in various ways. 
Minnie welcomed her old friend heartily, and Harry 
soon proposed, (as he always did to Minnie’s visitors) 
to take her into Minnie’s garden. They walked in 
and Ethel’s eyes danced with delight as she gazed 
upon the lovely little spot. Every bed was viewed 
and names of the various flowers given. Ethel ad¬ 
mired them all and a little sigh escaped her, for she 
had no such spot of beauty at her home. When she 
went home she told George of Minnie’s garden and 
begged that she might have one of her own. 
“All right little wife,” he said, “ I’ll see if I can’t 
find some one to make it for you, you know I have no 
taste for such things.” It is useless to state that Ethel 
never had a garden. Minnie enjoys hers, for her 
husband loves her flowers and helps her to care for 
them, but Ethel only sighs and wishes. 
Many a woman is bereft of this one pleasure be¬ 
cause her husband considers such things nonsense. I 
wish there were many more such men as Harry Martin, 
I wish every woman had these little beauties growing 
around her. They gladden many a sorrowful heart; 
they are the silver linings to many clouds; they 
'enter every scene in life and shed their sweetness 
over us; they are the cheapest luxury we can 
have; they make our homes beautiful and our-, 
selves happy. People are always happier where 
flowers grow. 
“Each leaflet is a tiny scroll 
Inscribed with holy truth, 
A lesson that around the heart 
Should keep the dew of youth, 
Bright missals from angelic tbroug. 
In every by-way left. 
How were the earth of glory shorn, 
Were it of flowers bereft.” 
PREPARING A WINDOW GARDEN. 
The first thing to be done is to procure a box < if tint.' 
earth, sifted from the heap where the garden-mold, 
sweepings from the chicken-yard, bits of sod and dead 
leaves have been mellowing in the sun all summer, 
this with a box of sand I have placed near the saucers 
of cuttings which I keep going from the first of August 
till the weather is too cool for the plants to remain out 
and then I usually keep one in the window ready to 
receive slips from bouquets, or trimmings from plants 
flint require to be cut back. In this way you can in¬ 
crease your stock of house plants very much. But to 
return to the garden ; where you have a greenhouse or 
even a lawn devoted to flowers, your gardener raises 
and pots all that are worth saving—old and young. 
This is not the case with me, my space is limited, I 
have two or three windows with flower-stands in front 
of them, and in them 1 must have blooming plants, 
not old ones ; these I send to the cellar. Rose-slips 
planted last fall or winter and set out in the spring, 
I find have grown nicely and are in good order for 
potting. Young Geraniums, Begonias, Rose Geran¬ 
iums cut back, and young Petunias are sure to bloom 
if managed carefully. I put them in pots that hold 
the roots firmly, without giving them much surplus 
room, water them well and set them in the shade for 
several days. After all though, the slips are my main 
dependence for bloom, of these you can have a great 
variety. Cuttings of Geranium, Abutilon, Begonia, Pe¬ 
tunia and Coleus root readily. Roses, Verbenas, Hibis¬ 
cus, Mahonia and others of a kindred nature take a little 
longer to start] but so do some of our dearest friends; 
and we do not love them any the less for their want 
of punctuality, while the roots ot these cuttings are 
short I put them in small pots, always placing a 
pebble or piece of earthen-ware over the opening in 
the pot to insure drainage. If they are kept in the 
shade under a tree with, low branches for a week or 
ten days it will give them a good start, and a slight 
frost will not reach them. I generally try to get a 
few seeds of winter-blooming flowers started in August, 
sowing them in boxes; cigar boxes do very well, and 
a pane of glass will cover them, when the second 
leaves appear I pot them. Primulas, Mimulns and 
Petunias are very satisfactory grown in this way, and 
early in the spring will bloom if gently forced through 
the winter months by frequent watering with weak 
guano water, or warm water with a few drops of 
ammonia in it. I must, before closing, make mention 
of the bulbs, for they give but little trouble and a 
great deal of pleasure. Hyacinths of the best named 
sorts, Lilies, Crocuses and the little Duc-Van-Thol 
Tulips are indispensable. I prefer single Hyacinths 
for blooming in the house, and one of the handsomest 
lever saw was a “Camper,” tall, light-blue. I al¬ 
ways try to have one of them in my collection. They 
do better with me in pots than glasses, and can after¬ 
wards be planted in the garden. Crocuses are very 
pretty planted in a long, narrow box, such as umbrel¬ 
las and parasols come packed in ; after the buds have 
made their appearance put them across the front of 
the window, and use them as a bordering for other 
flowers. These boxes will hold from One to two dozen. 
I plant all my bulbs late in September or early in 
October, and let them stay out of doors for four or five 
weeks then bring them gradually into light and heat. 
E. L. S. 
Oleanders. —If Mrs. Thorpe will wash her'Oleander, 
every leaf both sides, and scrape off the scales with her 
thumb nail (if there are any on it) - , I think she will find 
it will start the buds. I have known it to do so in less 
than a w'eek. 
Squills.—I should think Mrs. David Buffett’s green 
bulb she speaks of must be what we call Squills about 
here. I have one; it. has not bloomed, but I have seen 
one many years ago that did; it had a spike of fine 
white flowers; it is nothing like a lily. 
