tidies 
A LITTLE WINDOW GARDEN. 
A few years ago I had quite a pretty window gar¬ 
den, not many flowers, hut green and growing all 
winter, under many disadvantages. The window I 
used faced nearly north • it had a little sunshine, how¬ 
ever ; no shutters to the window and only an ordinary 
white blind. It was a very cold winter, and we kept 
a fire in the room day and night. 
We were living in a small town, and wire baskets 
were scarce and dear, so I went to a tinner’s, bought 
some wire and borrowed a pair of pliers, and made a 
basket for myself at very trifling cost; I lined it with 
moss from the woods ; filled it with ground from the 
same place ; planted in it a German or parlor Ivy, a 
Kenilworth Ivy, and a Wandering Jew. They all 
grew very well; the parlor Ivy was inclined to be 
rather delicate, but by pinching it back, and only let¬ 
ting it grow up the handles, kept it in good condition, 
having to give it close attention, however, for it was 
much troubled with green bugs, which I had to pick 
off nearly every day. 
The Kenilworth Ivy grew and bloomed nearly all 
the time without any trouble, except pinching off the 
ends when they grew too long, to keep it full on top. 
The Wandering Jew had such very fine leaves on it, 
threw out a great many of its pretty red threads and 
clusters of leaves, and in the spring, much to my sur¬ 
prise, a tall flower stalk, which remained in bloom for 
some weeks. But I must tell you how my window 
was arranged. It looked so pretty that I made a lit¬ 
tle sketch of it. 
In the middle hung my canary bird on one side the 
basket I have just mentioned ; on the other, a common 
cigar box, suspended with twine, completely filled 
with Tradeseantia zebrina, so that no box was seen. 
It grew so fast and bloomed so freely its beautiful 
wee purple flowers were a delight the vs hole winter. 
As the ends grew too long, I pinched them off and put 
them in the box to keep it full, or any place where 
there was room for them, 
In the fall I put a piece of Nasturtium into a jar of 
water ; it sent out plenty of roots, and bloomed until 
nearly Christmas, when it looked so delicate I threw it 
away. I had also a white Petunia in a cigar box ; it 
bloomed very late, then looked so green and pretty 
all winter and began to bloom again in April. 
I found cigar boxes very good for planting in ; they 
stand well close tos'ether, and do not dry out like 
crocks. On cold nights I put a newspaper between 
the plants and the glass, and if very cold pinned up 
my bird cage and each of my hanging-baskets in a 
separate paper, and they were never touched by the 
cold the whole winter. I had a Rose Geranium and 
a box of Ground Ivy, which delighted me by bloom- 
iug early in February, and some Ferns which are al¬ 
ways interesting, the different shaped leaves, and their 
curious way of coming up, like hairy caterpillars 
more than anything else. 
In the fall I took in some pretty Chrysanthemums; 
after they were done blooming, cut them down and 
kept them on account of the pretty fresh shoots that 
came up. I had also a little Cactus, a thick, flat oval, 
leaf with clusters of prickles on it. The buds all came 
out of the edges; some were leaf-buds, and two or 
three were bright yellow flowers, lemon-scented. 
Through some carelessness it died, and I have never 
been able to get another, not knowing its name ; had 
also a little orange tree, which I bought in bloom ; 
about a dozen orenges formed, but they fell off one 
after another. I could not keep it warm enough; the 
rest by care in watering amd turning them round, 
kept very pretty all winter. E. H. E. 
tonal i8ob£iiiBt hr 3 ftetarial BHEome llompunioii. 
[Written specially for the Ladies’ Floral Cabinet.] 
By Augusta Larned. 
CHAPTER XII. 
“ When Pandora allowed unnumbered evils to escape into the world’ 
she left hope at the bottom of the casket.” 
It was a sunny May-day at Halcourt Hall—a warm, 
bright, genial day for the season. The noble trees in the 
oak avenue were budding, and the waters of Glenmere 
shone blue atid benignant under a soft spring haze. The 
gray stone of the old Hall was softened by a curtain of 
vines, and the whole place had been transformed as if by 
magic, since we first saw it five years ago. The borders 
were trimmed and neat, and glowing with blossomed 
shrubs and clusters of rich flowers. The turf was like 
three-ply velvet, and beautifully kept drives and gravel 
paths stretched in all directions where new vistas had 
been cut to afford glimpses of the mountains and lake. 
Two noble century plants in carved stone pots fronted the 
entrance, and there a fountain was tossing up its crystal 
jet in the sunshine. 
A hound of noble size, but very old, and almost blind 
and toothless, lay stretched on a rug where the sun streaked 
across the threshold, and now and then he lifted his head 
to snap at an imaginary insect. The gardener was setting 
his green-house plants outside in the sun, while his assis¬ 
tant cut the thick sweet grass with a lawn-mower. The 
delicate scent of lilacs was in the air, mingled with odors 
of new-mown hay, and the garden and orchard were one 
broad sheet of blossoms. It was the same old orchard 
where five years before two young girls, one dark, the 
other sunny-haired, had sat together in loving confidence. 
Now the blue birds and robins were singing with distrac¬ 
ting sweetness in among the fragrant branches, and the 
old place had renewed itself, and put on an air of stately» 
dignified age. 
As the lawn-mower clicked over the greensward, lay¬ 
ing down little swathes of odorous grass, a tall, erect young 
woman in a broad-brimmed black hat that shaded her face, 
and a close clinging black gown just relieved by a bit of 
white linen at the throat, came through the door. Old 
Hector gave a feeble whine of pleasure as he got upon his 
tottering feet to receive a pat from the hand of his mis¬ 
tress. For a moment she paused on the broad stone step 
looking out on the glorious blossomed earth, and drinking 
in the sweets of this incomparable morning. 
From the first glance it was plain that Winnifred Braith- 
waite had grown older, had matured and ripened since we 
last saw her. Her form had lost the meagreness and ang¬ 
ularity of girlhood, and was beautifully rounded. The 
noble head sat easily on fine shapely shoulders. The com¬ 
plexion, dark and warm, had a rich glow of health, and 
abundant glossy hair rippled over the low broad forehead. 
Her expression was no longer fitful and capricious, but the 
clear gray eyes looked out with calm, steady, decisive 
glances. She was a woman self-poised and complete. 
As Winnie stood there, in graceful posture, looking out 
over her domain, a bath-chair was wheeled around an an¬ 
gle of the house by a colored lad who had his mouth made 
up to whistle, but refrained out of respect to the inmate- 
Though his slender legs and arms had elongated since we 
last saw him, the crisp locks under the velvet cap, the 
jaunty figure, the expression of light-hearted carelessness 
unmistakably belonged to the Steenie of old. The chair 
contained a large, inert woman with but a feeble gleam of 
intelligence in the dull face, but still with a look which 
seemed to indicate that the motion of the vehicle gave her 
a degree of pleasure. 
“ Are you going away again, Winnifred ? ” she asked in 
a dissatisfied tone. “ I have scarcely seen anything of you 
for two whole days.” 
“No, mamma, I am not going away,” and Winnie 
stooped down and took the nerveless hand in hers and pat¬ 
ted it. “ I have been a bad girl to neglect you so long; 
but you must try and pardon me, because I have been 
overrun with business and company.” 
“ You never tell me anything,” said Mrs. Braithwaite, 
unwilling to show that she was appeased, though it did 
please her to let her hand rest in Winnie’s, and be gently 
patted, “but I have a way of finding out things for myself, 
and I know who has been here.” 
“ I am willing to tell you all that will interest you, mam¬ 
ma, except those little trifles that are of no consequence, 
and might fret your mind.” 
“ There’s a deal goes on,” returned Mrs. Braithwaite in 
the tone of a peevish child, “ that never comes to my knowl¬ 
edge, but I happened to spy Charles Fortescue going away 
from the house after he had been here a good three 
hours.” 
“ He ought to have known better than to come,” said 
Winnifred, with an amused smile, and the air of being used 
to her mother’s little scenes, and bearing them with the 
utmost patience and good humor. “ Wheel mamma down 
into the oak avenue, Steenie, and bring me a camp-chair 
from the house, and then you may leave us.” 
When they were seated under the great spreading 
boughs with patches of soft blue sky interspersed, Mrs. 
Braithwaite began again on her grievance. 
“ You are not frank with me, Winnifred, though for a 
long time you have tried to be good and considerate. But 
you are not frank. I don’t ’spose it belongs to the Braith- 
waites to be frank, but I know what Charles Fortescue’s 
errand was, and all about the doings of his mother, and 
those nasty, sly, designing girls.” 
Winnifred leaned forward and smoothed her mother’s 
gray hair with a light soothing touch. 
“ He has gone away, mamma, on a long leave of ab¬ 
sence. He has had his walking papers; now don’t worry 
about him.” 
“ But you are not frank, Winnifred, you know you are 
not,” and the pathetic wrinkles deepened in Mrs. Braith- 
waite’s forehead. “Some day, I suppose, I shall sud¬ 
denly have it told me you are going to be married, and I 
don’t know how in my feeble state, with this weakness in 
my knees, I shall bear the shock.” 
The amusement broke out more brightly than ever in 
Winnie’s face and dimpled it all over. 
“No,” said she, printing alight kiss on the corrugated 
brow. “It is quite needless for you to borrow trouble 
about anything so very unlikely. I haven’t the remotest 
idea of taking unto myself a husband, and if such an idea 
should ever seriously enter my head, I will tell you at 
once, as lam in duty bound. You shall not have a son- 
in-law sprung upon you, mamma.” 
Mrs. Braithwaite looked at her for a moment with a puz¬ 
zled face, for nothing ever threw her into such mazes of 
perplexity as Winnie’s light, bantering tone. 
“ Do you mean to say that you have made up your mind 
not to marry at all, that you are going to live and die 
single ? ” 
“ I couldn’t positively affirm it if I were put upon oath,” 
looking at her with a half roguish, half perverse expres¬ 
sion. “We never know what folly we may be blindly led 
into, but at present I look upon myself as doomed to the 
awful fate of a spinster.” 
Mrs. Braithwaite heaved a great sigh and shook her head 
dismally. She was as little pleased with this alternative 
as the other. 
“ It’s unnatural that a great heires3 and a beauty like 
you, with dozens and dozens of offers, should dry away into 
an old maid. You don’t confide in me, Winnifred, but I 
know who comes here. There’s Colonel Peasley, and 
Judge Barber, and that young lawyer from New York, 
and Charles Fortescue.” 
“ Don’t take the trouble to name them over,” cried Win¬ 
nie, gaily, “ they are all on the condemned list, and no 
hope of a reprieve.” 
Mrs. Braithwaite looked at her with a bewildered and 
disapproving face. 
“I don’t understand you,” she said mournfully. “Per- i 
