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165 
i** 
BOUQUETS. 
What a pleasure to gather the beautiful flowers, 
and fashion them into bouquets, to ornament our 
rooms, decorate the graves of our dear ones, or gladden 
the heart of the invalid! They are fit messengers of 
love and sympathy to our sick and suffering friends, 
telling their own story of heavenly care and protec¬ 
tion. 
Many people dislike to cut their flowers at all, while 
others will pluck all kinds and colors in one bunch, 
and, never giving a thought to their arrangement, 
crowd them into a little vase, or put them in an old 
pitcher too large by half, and down go several of the 
prettiest into the water out of sight. We should know 
when we gather our flowers what we wish to do with 
them, and cut and arrange them accordingly. Some 
flowers have very short stems; these look pretty in 
something shallow like a saucer, for we dislike to cut 
off large clusters of buds every time we pick a Ver¬ 
bena, or take a whole plant to get one Pansy or Bal¬ 
sam. 
Every bouquet should have a 
good proportion of green and 
white, aud not too many bright 
colors, for it is in poor taste to 
put all shades and varieties to¬ 
gether. Neither should flowers be 
formed into rank and file like a 
regiment of infantry, where like 
the soldiers they lose all their in¬ 
dividuality by their similar posi¬ 
tions aud crowded appearance, but 
grouped loosely and gracefully, let¬ 
ting each flower show its own pe¬ 
culiar beauty and habit as far as 
possible. Those with long, slen¬ 
der stems, such as the Tassel 
Flower and Calliopsis, look so 
pretty nodding their heads above 
their larger and stiffer companions. 
Then the Pansy, which chooses a 
shady nook to grow and bloom in, 
should never be placed on the out - 
side of a bouquet to stare at the 
whole world, but be seen peeping 
out from beneath the green leaves, 
half hidden from view; while 
the stately Gladiolus may look 
proudly fourth from the centre, 
surrounded and intertwined with 
fine flowers or wavy green. 
V<ry pretty bouquets can be 
made in saucers of wet sand; they 
are easily arranged, the sand 
keeping each flower in place. 
These are very appropriate to place in the cemetery, 
as the flowers appear to have grown and blossomed 
there in the grass. Very beautiful ones are made 
. with the June Pinks, the white English Pinks, and 
two or more kinds of Rose-buds, with a Rose just 
opened in the centre. For green the Scotch Rose 
leaves are the prettiest for the top, they are so small 
and delicate. Place larger Rose leaves round the edge, 
allowing them to fall over and hide the saucer, and 
the bouquet will appear to be made in a wreath of 
Rose leaves. The next morning the Rose-buds will 
have opened, and you will almost wonder if this is the 
same bouquet you made the day before. 
There are no flowers that excel the lovely Pinks and 
Roses; to their firmness of texture, perfect form, and 
beautiful coloring, is added a delicate perfume, more 
pleasing by far than that of the Mignonette, which is 
not a particular favorite of mine. I would choose first 
those flowers having beauty as well as sweetness, 
among which will be found the half-hardy purple Heli¬ 
otrope and Sweet Alyssum. Let us always have the 
pretty, sweet-scented blossoms, for fragrance gives a 
delightful charm to our bouquets. 
A very common mistake is the forming of too many 
flowers in one cluster, destroying their graceful, airy 
effect; a few, carefully selected, and tastefully ar¬ 
ranged with slender sprays of running vine, and finely 
cut, wavy green, will surely give us more pleasure 
than a confused mass, of many varieties, so huddled 
and jammed together that they present the rueful ap- 
G-arden Vase of Flowers and Grasses. 
Pearance of floral criminals condemned to die by suffo¬ 
cation. Minnie. 
and the Wild Rose, who was so rude if anyone touched 
her. Were we not tall and slender, fair and sweet of 
face, and did not our green dresses become our fair 
complexions wonderfully? Were we not admired by 
every one who saw us; and more than all, did not our 
mirror, the pond, tell us we were beautiful every time 
we glanced in it ? Yesterday there came to our pleas¬ 
ant home a gay pleasure-boat with a party of ladies 
and gentlemen; the ladies all exclaimed, as soon as 
they saw us, “ Oh, how sweet, how lovely !” and one, 
whose face was like an angel’s, reached over and took 
me and several of my companions into the boat with 
them. The other ladies gathered some of my fair 
sisters, and we were all carried away to our new and 
separate homes. The lady that I and my sisters were 
with took us to a grand house on a hill, where we 
were again admired and our fragrance inhaled, and at 
night I shone like a star in the raven braids of my new 
mistress’s hair in a ball-room. Her lover’s hand 
placed me there, and as he did so, he bent and whis¬ 
pered something in her ear, and then kissed the rosy 
lips that looked so tempting. The warm blood rose 
to her cheek, and I thought I never had beheld any¬ 
thing so beautiful. I missed my old home and my 
pretty mates, but I felt sure I had fallen into good 
hands, and I felt proud in having 
so beautiful a mistress, and being 
so admired. When my mistress 
came home and looked in the 
mirror she saw my drooping head, 
for the heat in the ball-room had 
made me faint and languid. She 
took me from her hair, and said, 
tenderly, as she held me in her 
hand, “ Poor wilted lily, I’m sorry 
you faded so soon.” Then she 
put me in a vase of water, which 
refreshed and strengthened me, 
and this morning when she looked 
at me my white petals were open 
once more, which made her ex¬ 
claim: “Ah, my pretty lily, you 
are alive yet, aint you.’’ But I 
have lost some of my fragrance, 
and I know that before the sun 
sets I shall be dead, for the life of 
a lily is very frail. They say this 
is a cold world, but “my lines 
have fallen in pleasant places,” 
and I am sure that when I am 
dead, and all my beauty and 
fragrance gone forever, my sweet 
mistress will not throw me into 
the street to be trampled in the 
mud, but will lay me carefully 
away in remembrance of the night 
when her lover whispered sweet 
tender words as he placed me in 
her shining braids of hair. 
THE WATIR LILY’S STORY. 
When I first opened my eyes to the daylight I 
was in a lovely place. My home was a beautiful pond, 
whose waters were so clear they reflected the blue sky 
and fleecy clouds overhead, and where everything was 
still, and calm, and quiet; I was surrounded by fair 
companions each as lovely as myself. We grew 
fairer and sweeter every day, and we thought ourselves 
better than the common flowers that grew on the 
farther side of the pond, the Daisies, the Blue Violets, 
Adders Tongues, that queer fellow, Jack in the Pulpit, 
Wiggletails.—I see in the September number o 
the Cabinet that Henry Cordes wishes to know wha 
will prevent wiggletails in a tub of plants. A smal 
fish, say perch, caught in any stream or pond, wil 
keep the water entirely free from the above pest, an 
mosquitoes will not bother. Only keep the tub ful 
as it evaporates, just fill up with fresh water, no nee< 
to bail the water; I have a perch in a tub of Wate 
Lilies, and the tub of water is free from all pests c 
the kind. I catch a few house-flies once or twice ; 
-week and throw them in the water just to see the fisl 
eat them. Priscilla. 
