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IN-DOOR FLORICULTURE. 
I have no particular strait-jacket rules "by which I 
manage my plants, hut should judge from appearances 
in general they were very well satisfied with my kind 
of treatment. There have been instances, however, 
where some have rebelled and shown a will of their 
a sensitive nature that must not be 
trifled with too far. I have found by sad experience 
that experimenting with guano-water to any great ex¬ 
tent was detrimental 1o many kinds, also that ammo¬ 
nia and Geraniums were somewhat at variance. 
It is quite a mystery to me how young amateurs can 
read a Floral Guide and then have courage to make a 
start in Floriculture. I feel that I have every reason 
for thanking my mother that she “set me agoing” 
about the first thing after the cradle was abandoned, 
with my “itty fowdies,” for I am sure had I waited 
until I could read, my courage would have gone down 
to the sticking-point forthwith. 
The soil I use is not the elaborate preparation pre¬ 
scribed by most horticultural books and papers, but 
simply well rotted turf from the field, with a free ad¬ 
mixture of manure and pulverized charcoal—as a good 
old farmer told me one day, “The more manure you 
put in the better, if you don’t git in too much,” and if 
you want a healthy plant with a brilliant blossom 
don’t be sparing of charcoal. Foliage plants are an 
exception to others and require a poorer soil, and should 
never be allowed to blossom—partial shade is also pre¬ 
ferred to bright sunshine. 
I once had quite a fancy for large pots—supposed, 
when 1 got a new slip, if it were ever going to attain 
the height of one and a half or two feet, it must neces¬ 
sarily have a pot nearly as large as all out-doors, that 
it might have plenty of room to “ spread itself,” and 
obviate the unpleasant task of potting over, which 
might disturb the roots; but experience, lack of room 
for seventy or eighty such little dishes, and writings 
upon floriculture, have taught me that the smaller the 
pot the greater will be the abundance of bloom. I 
think my Abutilon was a very good test last winter 
on that question. I knew the pot was full of roots, 
also that the top was full of blossoms, and thinking of 
course it could not bloom' at that rate always, I let it 
beautifully alone, until at last the roots held a consul¬ 
tation and finally went on an exploring expedition over 
the surface—they prowled about, crossing and recross¬ 
ing until they had manufactured quite a nice cover of 
rustic lacework, and thinking probably there was 
nothing more for them to do there, peeped over the 
edges of the pot, as if deliberating whether it w'ere 
best to make an overland route to the floor or not. I 
don’t know what other people may think, but I think 
when our plants show a tendency to take root in the 
carpet it is high time something were done for them. 
But my Abutilon was a beauty at one end and a curi¬ 
osity at the other, and who can blame me for not wish¬ 
ing to disturb it. There was no time but you could 
count thirty buds and blossoms and from that to over 
sixty. For beverage I used hen manure water and 
one or two drops of ammonia every week. 
(Stick a pin here, please.) That nothing so con¬ 
duces to failure with plants as neglecting to wash 
them—it will starve to death, choke to death, and 
breed all manner of vermin from an aphis to a spider 
an inch across. There seems to be a differing in opin¬ 
ions, however, as regards the proper time this operation 
should be performed, but I think any time is better 
than not to wash them at all. One says, “Never -wet 
your plants at night, for like humanity they require 
rest, and night is the proper time.” Very well, not 
knowing any better than to do so, I will admit that, 
and contend that there is enough more of humanity 
about them to require a presentably clean foliage, and 
enough water to keep them from being dry, or they 
will look in the morning about as I did once after cel¬ 
ebrating the fourth all day and fighting bedbugs all 
night—“ kinder gin out.” If it is hurtful, what a pro¬ 
digious old fool Dame Nature has been through all 
these thousands of years to send her shower-clouds 
skipping about nearly every evening to give the little 
beauties that are in her care their refreshing baths. I 
fail to see any good result from pelting them with hail¬ 
stones, as she did the other night, though. 
Others contend, if you sprinkle while the sun is 
shining upon them it will cause the leaves to blister. 
Let those who have experienced ill effects by so doing 
abstain in the future, or drop muslin or lace curtains 
between them and the window until they have become 
somewhat dry. 1 prefer morning, not that I think it 
best for the plants, but because I like that such work 
be done at that time, and if done after sweeping and 
dusting they will not accumulate enough after that to 
do any injury whatever, unless you have an uncom¬ 
monly dirty family. Washing-day I look upon as the 
day of all the week the best for plants, and I wish all 
who are not in the habit of doing so already would try 
the experiment of giving their plants a good thorough 
ducking in their dirty suds, the dirtier the better; then 
rinse them in clear water, and if it doesn’t make them 
laugh they belong to a very different breed from mine. 
When they are replaced by the window, the side that 
was to the light before should be turned in, thereby 
giving the other the benefit of the sun, and the pot 
should set low enough to escape the rays, as heating 
the roots is anything but beneficial to them. Those 
who have shelves up in the full glare of the sun should 
shade them in some way. Lambrequins, if tastefully 
made, are nice as anything I know of, besides being 
very ornamental, and just as you are going they work 
in wonderfully well where people are troubled with 
unsightly pots—handleless teapots with snout knocked 
off, for instance. 
I like changes, and judge my plants by myself, so 
one week treat them to manure-water, another to 
bone burned and pulverized, pulverized charcoal, 
ammonia to those that like it, a bit' of wood ashes, 
tobacco tea, tea and coffee left from the table—never 
have given them any intoxicating liquors yet, don’t 
know but I may—and all the juice that runs out of 
fresh meat I can get. 
Green flies, red spiders, black mites and all such 
company as insist upon having greens served up to 
them daily, are not in the habit of visiting me often, 
but when they do, I just mix a little paris green in 
their bathing water, the result of which is an immedi¬ 
ate French leave. If I were troubled with vermin as 
some people are, I should abandon all other plants 
and make a specialty with the cactus family; I have 
six or eight different kinds and as yet have never seen 
an insect upon one of them; I have allowed them to 
remain in the same dirt over three years, some have 
been frozen, stood the heat at 90-*’ like heroes, have 
allowed them to dry up until they looked like delapi- 
dated old maids; in fact I believe they will bear any 
insult or injury you can heap upon them, with the 
patience of a Chinaman, excepting an overplus of 
water, and that they wont stand, will die first—Lob¬ 
ster-claw and Rattail excepted. But they are wonder¬ 
ful nice for lazy people, and I like them for oddity, for 
their beautiful blossoms, and more than all the rest 
I like them because they require so little attention; 
like Jeff. Davis, all they want is to be let alone. I 
ome 
have one just out of bloom that I should think might 
be a Lily Cactus, as the blossom was just like a Lily, 
only twice as large as any I ever saw; it measured 
eight inches and seven-eighths across, had a tuft of 
long silken looking stamens hanging down the inside 
nearly as large as your finger; the color was a brilliant 
dazling scarlet, and hanging down close beside a pure 
white Calla, the contrast was very striking. 
My treatment for them is no treatment at all, 
scarcely, until they commence a growth, then I water 
freely with rain or snow water, with a few drops of 
ammonia in it, once a week—two or three drops of 
the concentrated to a quart of water—and put bone 
burned and pulverized on top of the dirt. All the 
varieties I have blossom freely, Turks Head not to be 
excepted, but I never should keep one of those fellows 
a great while for the sake of its blossom; here they 
are called Old Bachelor’s Heart, and I keep mine to 
tease a couple of unapproachables that are so unfor¬ 
tunate as to be in my acquaintance. Marion. 
[Note.—A capital letter. We hope for more “all¬ 
spice” from Marion.] 
LILIES. 
In the Spring of 1873 I purchased a bulb of Lilium 
Aura turn; planted and attended it with great care. It 
grew tall and slender, but did not bloom. I kept it in 
the cellar during the winter. This Spring I repotted 
without disturbing the roots. Again it came up, about 
as slender as a pipestem, with several smaller ones 
around it, which I cut off, leaving only one besides the 
main stalk. When about three inches high, our cat— 
named Lily—ate off the top. I first thought it was 
ruined, and was about to cut it off even with the 
ground, but concluded to let it grow. After a few 
weeks I was delighted to see a bud. Watching it with 
anxious care, one day, when the bud was almost ready 
to open, I found a number )f small grasshoppers on it. 
By watching closely I soon found they came up from 
the soil near the stem. I dug it away down to the 
roots and found they were thick. I put a few drops 
of spirits of ammonia in water and poured in, until 
they ceased to make their appearance (after taking 
out and killing all I could). 1 then filled up the hole 
with rich loam and sand, sprinkled with weak ammo¬ 
nia water, leaf, bud and soil, and awaited further de¬ 
velopments. Early in the morning, May 19th, it began 
to open, and before night it more than fulfilled our 
most sanguine expectations. The half has not been 
told'in describing its beauty—it must be seen to be 
fully appreciated. For many days friends came to see 
“the beautiful Lily.” I now feel I would not be will¬ 
ing to be without a Lilium Auratum. Though the 
weather is so very warm my plants are doing finely, 
but I have had a severe battle with little white 
worms in the pots. I have conquered by the use of 
spirits of ammonia in water. Was never troubled 
with them before. I have tried again and again to 
raise Angelonia Grandiflora from seed, but have never 
succeeded. Can some one tell me why ? It is said to 
grow freely from seed. 
I have a Lily, the leaf is like plantain. It grew 
very large last Summer, bloomed beautifully, very fra¬ 
grant, perfume much like Tuberose, and blooms along 
the stalk like it. It is pure white. Said to be hardy, 
though I kept mine in the cellar last winter. Requires 
a great deal of water. Will some of the readers of 
the Cabinet please tell me the name? 
I have purchased Sweet Violets several times—they 
all start to grow, then die. I have tried them in va¬ 
rious ways. What is the trouble? The Ladies’ 
Floral Cabinet is a great benefit to me; I would 
be glad if it came every week. Aunt Carrie. 
