Part 16

"Gardening is a pleasant pastime." I am prepared to adopt that sentiment to-day, if I did demur somewhat last month. It is a delightful pastime, in the early morning, to spend an hour among the flowers, trowel in hand, rooting out the weeds, loosening the soil around your plants, and tying up here and there the tall and fragile, while the birds are singing in the trees around you their morning song of gladness. How the dew-laden grass and shrubs impart sweetness to the air, and your lungs inhaling its purity, are expanded and invigorated, your whole system feels the better for the tonic, and prepares for breakfast, and the work that shall follow.

It is a pleasant pastime, when wearied with toil you go forth for a time among your flowers and search for the buds, or examine the newly-opened flower. How it rests you!

It is a pleasant pastime, when the labors of the day are over, and the sun is throwing long shadows from the west, you take watering-pot in hand, and shower the refreshing spray upon your plants, cleansing them from the dust, and cooling them after the heat. How they thrive, and bud and bloom!

The Love of Flowers.

"We should love flowers, for when we are gone From this forgetful world a few short years-- Nay, months, perhaps--those whom we hold most dear, Cease to bedew our memories with tears, And no more footsteps mark the paths that lead To where we dreamless lie; but God's dear flowers Give to our very graves the loveliness That won our tender praise when life was ours."

LAST WORDS OF THE POET HEINE.

Of the many touching tributes paid to flowers, there is a beautiful one associated with the closing hours of Henry Heine, the poet. He was dying in Paris. The doctor was paying his usual visit, when Heine pressed his hand and said: "Doctor, you are my friend, I ask a last favor. Tell me the truth--the end is approaching, is it not?"

The doctor was silent.

"Thank you," said Heine calmly.

"Have you any request to make?" asked the doctor, moved to tears.

"Yes," replied the poet; "my wife sleeps--do not disturb her. Take from the table the fragrant flowers she brought me this morning. I love flowers so dearly. Thanks--place them upon my breast." He paused, as he inhaled their perfume. His eyes closed, and he murmured: "Flowers, flowers, how beautiful is Nature!" These were his last words.

THE OLD MAN AND THE FLOWERS.

A few years since the Belfast (Me.) Journal gave this touching incident: "One day last week an elderly man, known to our people as an honest and hard-working citizen, was walking slowly up Main street. There was sorrow in his countenance, and the shadow of grief upon his face. Opposite the Savings Bank his eye caught sight of the flowering Oleander, that with other plants fill the bay-window of the banking-room. He looked at it long and wistfully. At length he pushed open the door, and approaching Mr. Q., said:

"'Will you give me a few of those flowers?'

"The cashier, leaving the counting of money and the computing of interest, came around the counter, bent down the plant, cut off a cluster of blossoms, and placed it in the man's toil-hardened hand. His curiosity led him to ask:

"'What do you want them for?'

"'My little granddaughter died of scarlet fever last night,' the man replied with faltering voice, 'and I want to put them in her coffin.'

"Blessed be flowers, that can thus solace the bereavement of death and lend their brightness as a bloom, to the last resting-place of the loved one."

CONVERTED BY A FLOWER.

There is a beautiful incident told of a Texas gentleman who was an unbeliever in the Christian religion. One day he was walking in the woods, reading the writings of Plato. He came to where the great writer uses the phrase, "God geometrizes." He thought to himself, "If I could only see plan and order in God's works, I could be a believer." Just then he saw a little Texas Star at his feet. He picked it up and then thoughtlessly began to count its petals. He found there were five. He counted the stamens, and there were five of them. He counted the divisions at the base of the flower, there were five of them. He then set about multiplying these three fives to see how many chances there were of a flower being brought into existence without the aid of mind, and having in it these three fives. The chances against it were one hundred and twenty-five to one. He thought that was very strange. He examined another flower, and found it the same. He multiplied one hundred and twenty-five by itself, to see how many chances there were against there being two flowers, each having these exact relations of numbers. He found the chances against it were thirteen thousand six hundred and twenty-five to one. But all around him were multitudes of these little flowers, and they had been growing and blooming there for years. He thought this showed the order of intelligence, and that the mind that ordained it was God. And so he shut up his book, picked up the little flower, kissed it, and exclaimed: "Bloom on little flowers; sing on little birds; you have a God, and I have a God; the God that made these little flowers made me."

A Talk About Abutilons.

This species is one of the most desirable of hardy-wooded plants we possess. They are admirable for the house, for the balcony, the piazza, or the border, being handsome in foliage, and very graceful and beautiful in flowers. Some are stately, others dwarf, some are flexible and drooping. We have had for several years three that we have greatly admired for their variegated leaves, especially for the winter window-garden, where they compensate for the scarcity of flowers, by the brilliancy of their foliage, yellow and green, finely mottled and marbled.

Duc de Malakoff is stately, and by cutting off the top of the main stalk, it is made to branch out very largely, forming a miniature tree. It grows very rapidly, and its leaves are like the Maple in form, which has led many to call the plant Flowering Maple, but this is not correct, as it is not a Maple at all, but an Abutilon. Some of the leaves on one only a year old, measure seven inches across, and eight and a half in length. In the older plant they are not so large. Thomsonii much resembles Malakoff, but its markings are not so handsome; the green is darker, and predominates over the yellow, so far as my observation extends, but it is a more abundant bloomer. Flowers are orange color. I have vainly searched through many catalogues to find the color of the Duc de Malakoff blossom, but all are silent; it is not even said that they flower at all, but my four-year-old had one bud last year, which unfortunately blighted. The yearling has one bud, and I hope it will live and afford me the knowledge I have failed to find in books. Malakoff not variegated, has large orange bells, striped with brown.

My other variegated Abutilons are of trailing habit; Mesopotamicum is very graceful, one droops over the side, and climbs and twines around the cords of a large hanging-pot, for which it is admirably adapted. Its small pendant blossoms, crimson and yellow, growing profusely along the slender branches, drooping among the elegantly marbled foliage, give this variety a very attractive charm. Another is trained to a pot trellis, and is very beautiful in this form. We advise every one to add this variety to their collection. Pictum is very similar in every respect; the leaves are darker, and not so variegated. They require a strong light to bring out their markings, and hence are more perfect in beauty when bedded out in the garden, where they can have plenty of sunshine.

Boule de Neige (Fairy Bell) has long been a favorite for its pure white bells and constancy of bloom. A splendid winter bloomer. John Hopkins, with its rich, dark, glossy leaves and golden flowers has superseded the old Pearl d'Or, which was for a time the only real yellow. Darwinii is one of my favorites. The flowers are more spreading than any other variety, opening like a parasol; color orange-scarlet veined with pink. It blossoms very profusely, and when only a few inches in height. The flowers are large and well formed, and borne in clusters rather than singly, like many older sorts. This variety was cross-fertilized with Santana, crimson flower, and as a result we have Darwinii tessellatum, combining the variegated foliage of Thomsonii with the free-blooming qualities of Darwinii.

The improvements by hybridizing have been very great within a few years, and many new varieties have been sent out. One of these is Roseum Superbum, the flowers of which are of a rich rose color, veined with a delicate pink. Very free bloomer. Venosum, we find only named in an English catalogue. "The magnificent blooms of this variety place it at the top of all the Abutilons. Although it is of tall growth its beautiful palm-shaped leaves and gorgeous flowers make it invaluable for crossing and for conservatories."--H. Cannell.

Among the new and valuable novelties of American origin are Arthur Belsham, Robert George, J. H. Skinner, and Joseph Hill. These have been three years before the public, and Mr. John Thorp, a well-known popular florist of Queens, N. Y., says of them, "We have not, amongst all the flowering Abutilons, such fine varieties as these. I have had plants between five and six feet high, pyramidal shape and literally covered with flowers."

They originated with Messrs. Leeds & Co., of Richmond, Indiana, who make quite a specialty of new seedling Abutilons, and this year offer four "of new shades and colors."