may be gathered up and destroyed. We have known large crops of plums to be raised by following each of these methods. If the trees are low and bushy, and easy to come at, the lime and ashes can be all the more conveniently used.

The publishers received early this season, from Messrs. Hubbard & Davis of Detroit, a lot of choice verbenas, being selections from their large and varied stock of this popular flower. The plants have, during the past summer, grown with remarkable vigor, displayed magnificent bloom, and are now special objects of admiration to all who see them. In depth and purity of color, in size of flower and vigorous habit, they are superior to any we have seen; and we trust they may be generally disseminated.

MARGARET, Nashville. We were in error in stating in our September issue, p. 189, that the lily of the valley was discovered in this country by Nuttall. The plant was discovered by Michaux, and later by Pursh.

E. H. H., Vineland, N. J. — Twelve good plants for parlor-culture are Abutilon striatum; Cyclamen Persicum and variety album; Daphne odorata; Azalea indica alba; Calla, or Richardia Ethiopica; Cuphea platycentra; Epiphyllum truncatum; Heliotrope, some variety; Jasminam revolutum; Kennedya monophylla; Mahernia odorata; Primula sinenis and varieties.

Of the above list, many will be in bloom from October till May.

Add also, if to your fancy, the Laurustinus, a double white camellia, a Pettosporum, a yellow oxalis, Ixia crocata, a rose geranium, and a bridal rose; also a few hyacinths, jonquils, and Polyanthus narcissus.

Weathered and Cherevoy's patent boilers have, we believe, given general satisfaction. Address 117, Prince Street, New York. For a small pit, an old-fashioned brick flue would answer, and not be very expensive.

You can obtain crested dog's-tail grass (Cynosurus cristatus) from B. K. Bliss of Springfield, Washburn & Co. of Boston, and probably of any seedsman. Price about 75 cents per pound.

MRS. C. E. N., Sewickley, Allen County, Penn. - Parsons & Co. of Flushing, L.I., will furnish you with any of the species or varieties of cyclamen, all potted and started for winter growth.

Sedum carneum variegatum can also be obtained of Parsons & Co.

Pansies do not thrive in the house in winter, and seldom bloom well. They are best grown in a cold frame, for which you will find full directions in our columns.

Send for seed to B. K. Bliss of Springfield, Mass.; who could, perhaps, send you also the cyclamen and sedum.

A SUBSCRIBER, Madison. — You can raise gladiolus from seed, and perhaps get better flowers than from imported bulbs. With ordinary treatment, seedlings bloom the third year; but, by forcing, they will bloom in half that time. The publishers can send you the book upon Bulbs.

I. S. S., St. Paul, Minn. — Your only way to ascertain whether plants are hardy with you is by experiment. Of course, there are many plants which you know to be hardy, and even a larger number which you know are tender. But between these two is a large class of the hardiness of which you are uncertain. It by no means follows, that, because a plant comes from a cold country, it is hardy in a place farther south. Many plants stand the winter of Canada, and are winter-killed in New England. Many of the so-called "Alpine plants" are perfectly hardy on the mountains, but perish in the winter in the gardens in England. This is due to the protection afforded by the snow during winter in their native habitats, which defends the plants from severe cold; acting as a blanket, and keeping them warm. Again: many plants, which no degree of steady cold will kill, perish if under the alternate freezing and thawing of our winters. Plants hardy on the north of the house are killed on the south; and, as a general rule, the winter sun does more injury than the cold. Herbaceous plants and bulbs perish by thousands after an "open winter."

From all these facts, you can draw your own deductions, and experiment with those plants which give best promise of success. If killed on a southern exposure, try a northern, and protect crowns of the plants and bulbs by a covering of litter in the autumn. If we can assist you further in any particular experi

ment, write to us.

A. MEARS, Albany. You can cultivate all our native asters and golden-rods; and they all improve by cultivation, increasing in the size of the stools and flowers. On the other hand, the gerardia you will find very difficult of domestication. It will grow for a year, and then die out. We hold the theory, that it is semi-parisitic.

OLD TIMES, Hartford, Conn. - We agree with you. Many of the old-fashioned flowers have never been excelled, and should be more generally cultivated. Give us an article on the subject: we should be glad to call attention to the facts you mention.

OLD AND NEW. - Graft your seedlings on old stocks: they will fruit sooner, and you can tell whether they are of any value.

DWARFS, Watertown.

Plant dwarf-cherries and plums by all means. We propose at an early day to give an article on the subject. Plums thrive on dwarf stock, and are much more easily protected from the curculio.

H. L., New York. - Your plant is Monotropa uniflora, Indian-pipe or corpse plant, not uncommon, and a very handsome as well as peculiar plant.

CHAPTER II.

Leave-takings. Croakers.

- The Journey.

Our New

Home. Busy Times. - Getting fixed. - Jersey Ideas. - Improving Tastes.

REMOVING to a new home, at a distance of some hundreds of miles, is no small undertaking, as we soon began to discover. There were so many things to think of! And, when the packing had fairly commenced, we would gladly have parted with many of our superfluous articles of furniture, rather than increase the number of items for boxing and freight. Yet many things of small intrinsic value were endeared to us by long association, none of which could well be spared. My mother fancied that no other place could possess a semblance of the proper home-feeling unless these precious heir-looms were there: hence we went on with our boxing and packing, until, after a week of bare floors and other discomforts, the last day came, and the last load of goods was removed from the now-empty and drearylooking house that had been home to us for so many years. We took a final look, not without tears, and wondered whether it were possible

VOL. II.

to love another home as we had loved this. But my father, sanguine as ever, and not much given to sentiment, continued to cheer us with the prospect of that "better time coming," whereof so much has been said

and sung.

As two days were to be allowed for the transportation of our goods, my mother and myself, with the two younger children, went to pay some farewell visits to the neighbors; while my father and elder brother accompanied the baggage to the nearest station, whence it would be shipped direct to Burlington. Our move had been so unexpected, and we had kept our plans so quiet, that the neighbors had not yet recovered from their surprise; for, in that old-fashioned region, the new ideas of horticulture which had so impressed my father had not penetrated very deeply into the popular mind. They wished us all success in our new field; but the wise ones shook their heads mysteriously, and prophesied that next spring would probably see us back again. They even fancied it better to continue turning our ploughshares into pruning-hooks against the stout rocks of Connecticut than to throw away our labor altogether on what they called the dry and sandy plains of Central New Jersey. But all their exhortations went for nothing this time; and, on the day appointed, we set forth on our journey to the new home.

It was the first time that either my mother or myself had seen the city of New York. As we passed through the busy, ever-hurrying crowd to the railroad-wharf, we felt inwardly thankful that this was not to be our tarrying-place: the quiet of the country was more to our simple tastes. But steam shortens every journey; and we were quickly landed at the end of this, where, waiting on the platform, my father stood watching for our expected appearance.

Our new farm lay within a moderate distance of the town; but as the day was far advanced, and the house not altogether in readiness, we quartered ourselves for the night at an excellent hotel. Next morning was any thing but a promising one for our plans. The rain had fallen heavily during the night, bringing with it a cold wind, that made us shiver even within doors; but we set out from the hotel in the direction of our new home. The road, notwithstanding the recent rain, was hard, smooth, and comparatively dry. It was one of those beautiful gravel turnpikes for which this

section has long been famous, built with a rounded surface which turned the rain as it fell, and so level as to be a great novelty to all who had been accustomed to the rough, undulating roads of New England. No snow was to be seen; but, though only the 25th of March, we saw the ploughs running in a dozen fields. Many had already been planted with early pease. The grass in the headlands along the fences was fresh and green; and cows, turned out by shiftless owners to graze upon the highways, were enjoying this first taste of the new pasture, and able to find substantial pickings.

Every thing was so new and strange to our New-England eyes, that we took no note of distance, and were therefore quite surprised when told that we had reached our future home. How eagerly we looked out through the carriage-window to obtain a view of its condition and surroundings! We had left a trim and snug New-England house; and though warned by my father that we must not expect so neat an establishment here, yet we were wholly unprepared for the sight which now opened upon us. There stood a whity-brown house, with rough clapboards, without blinds or porch, or veranda of any kind, set down within a few feet of the road, and presenting altogether so comfortless an appearance as to strike dismay into the hearts of both my mother and myself. It certainly was not the ideal home I had so often pictured; but we said nothing. One or two decrepit shade-trees threw up their leafless branches near the front-door; and a few stray lilacs and altheas, standing without regularity around, completed the squalid picture. As to landscape, it was everywhere an almost perfect level. No mountains, no hills, so familiar to New-Englanders, but only rolling swells, just enough to carry off the rains. Yonder was an orchard of old apple-trees; and, beyond that, the horizon closed up with clumps of dark evergreens, the remnants, as I supposed, of the vast pine-forests which once covered all this portion of New Jersey.

"There are no mountains here, father," I could not help exclaiming. "Mountains never yet afforded us a living," he replied; adding, “It is time to be trying something better."

The defects of our new location were apparent to us at a glance: its beauties must be sought after, whether any were discovered or not. I well knew what passed in my mother's mind as she took her first survey of the