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MY FARM-YARD. How true it is that all nature rejoices in the spring; and the farm-yard at this season of the year possesses very great attractions. Such an assertion would cause a smile to creep over the face of those who were born and bred in towns, but my country readers will well understand it. Our possessions at this time are all on the increase: the cows have calves by their side; the sow her litter (of, it may be, some eight or ten little ones); the sheep arc feeding greedily on the "preserved bits of grass," their lambs bounding and frisking around them; hens are sitting on their eggs, watching, I should imagine, anxiously for the time in which they may introduce their progeny to the light of day, or, perhaps, in some few and favoured farm-yards she is busy searching for food for her brood, her wearisome task over, and she is now deriving pleasure from her patient sitting. Some hens do not at all like the confinement necessary to bring the eggs to perfection: I have one at present who brought out her first brood remarkably well, but since that time she has declined sitting longer than a week at a time. I have tried her three times, and each time she has had the ingratitude to spoil thirteen eggs, although I took every precaution to tempt her to remain on her nest-such as placing food and water within reach, "sitting" her in a quiet place, &c., all which trouble would not have been taken had she not been a beauty, and, consequently a pet. Even in reference to the inmates of a farm-yard, "the world judges by outward appearances more than it ought to do. Cows may, from the 1st of April, be left out at night; this will help to economise your hay, and will also give you more milk, natural grass always producing more than hay and roots. Vetches, Lucerne, and tares will soon be ready for the scythe, therefore, put up as much grass as you possibly can for hay. Grass that you intend to cut should not be stocked after Ladyday, or, at any rate, after the 1st of April. Many people recommend its being put up the beginning of the year, but this in small holdings" is almost impossible, nor do I think it of very great importance, at least, I mean that the benefit you derive from having more pasture, during the early part of the year, more than compensates for the loss in the bulk of the hay crop. When your sow litters, take great care that she is not disturbed; that the straw on which she lies is not too long, and that she has plenty to drink. If these points are not attended to, the young pigs are often destroyed, either by being overlayed, or by the mother's killing them. Even when all these precautions are taken, there are some sows who will destroy their young. I am sorry to be obliged to record so sad a fact of my favourites, yet it is true, though I hope and believe very rare; and I think it has generally been ascertained that deficiency of milk, provided for the young pigs' nourishment, was always an accompaniment to this piece of barbarity. This, in some measure, softens the feelings towards the unfortunate animal; but whatever may be the cause, there is only one course to pursue, and that is, fatten the sow immediately, and as quickly as possible, so as to kill her before the hot weather sets in; and as bacon is not firstrate unless salted in cool weather, I should advise its being sold fat to the butcher, if possible.

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In my last paper, I promised to make some remarks about rabbit feeding, and as I think it would be a great source of comfort to the cottager if rabbits were kept, I will say all I know about them. Books recommend you to feed them on " oats, hay, beans, and

a little green food." Now, I know from experience, that if you wish rabbits to pay, you must not feed them daintily. I dare say they will be fatter and better flavoured if fed on the "fat of the land," but I think the cottager, and those who study economy, will be quite satisfied if they can see a couple or two of rabbits on their table each week, with a very slight outlay of money, and will not be likely to complain that the flavour is not so good as it might have been had oats and beans been given to them constantly. If a garden is owned by the rabbit keeper, nothing can be better for them than the tops of carrots and celery; the roots they are very fond of, but as they are used in the house, it would be wasteful to give it to them. The hedges supply much that is useful for rabbit feeding. Wild parsnips and the common dandelion root they will eat freely; and as, of course, they must feed when in a wild state upon such food, nature points out that it is good for them. Children could be well and agreeably employed in collecting such food. Great regularity should be observed in feeding rabbits; three times a day is better than twice, for if much food is given them at once they tread it under foot and waste it. A handful of hay should constitute the middle meal, and that will prevent the green food disagreeing with them. A few tea-leaves, squeezed dry, and given to them now and then, is a good "medicine." When the doe is about to bring forth her litter, great care must be taken that she is not disturbed, for, if frightened, she sometimes devours her young ones. She must also be well fed; and immediately after they are born some warm gruel, or warm milk, should be given to the doe. Rabbits will breed all the year round, but it is much wiser to have litters only in the summer, for rabbits born in the winter are difficult to rear, and the doe's strength soon wears out if she is allowed to have more than four litters in the year; and as they generally have from six to ten young ones at a time, a large number will be reared even then. A rabbit, if carefully attended to, is fit for the table at three months; but, generally speaking, it is more profitable to keep them another month, as they are then full grown. I am quite sure no cottager will repent buying a couple of rabbits; and if he once feels the comfort of having one for dinner once or twice a week, he will never give them up. C. M. A.

THE PHYSIC GARDEN.
By a Physician.

POLYGALEE. Of this order there are but two species indigenous to England; and, as their medicinal properties are very similar, I shall treat of them under one head, and refer my reader to them for information. I may, however, mention that the qualities contained in our English plants are possessed to a much greater degree by a North American species-the famous Senega, or Snake Root, formerly so celebrated as an antidote to the bite of the rattlesnake, being used both externally and internally, for which purpose it is still used by the Senegaro Indians.

The Rattany Root, of Chili, is part of another member of this order, and is a well-known astringent, as well as a powerful tonic medicine.

MILKWORT (Polygala vulgaris L., and Polygala amara L.). Although it has been doubted by some whether the latter species is strictly English, yet as it is common in many parts of France and Germany, it may fairly come under our consideration as a plant capable of cultivation in England. The only differ

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ence, in a medicinal point of view, between the two species is, that the latter is rather more powerful and efficacious than the former; and, with this prefatory remark, I shall now speak of them as but one plant.

The milkwort, like all the other individuals of this order, has a bitter astringent taste in its leaves, which property is much more fully developed in its roots. It is the latter part of the plant, consequently, which is used in medicine, and an infusion of it is a safe cathartic, as well as of considerable use for a cough proceeding from cold, since it promotes expectoration. It is also employed in cases of pleurisy, in consumption, and in malignant fevers, with great benefit. The powder of the root is given in doses of from half a drachm to a drachm; or a pint and a half of water, with an ounce of it therein, may be boiled down to a pint, and drank with milk.

CAROPHYLLACEÆ. Of so little use are any of these plants, that it may be wondered why the order is retained in the medical list. For the most part, they are remarkable for their insipidity and general inactivity; and though some of them had useful properties attributed to them, it is now believed that they had no real claim to any such virtues. In this list I may mention the soapwort (Saponaria officinalis L.), the campion (Lychnis dioica L.), and the chickweed (Stellaria media), all of which are mentioned by the old herbalists. I may observe in passing, that the last plant may be boiled for the table like spinach.

The only species to which I shall refer is the CLOVE PINK (Dianthus caryophyllus L.), which is well known, and in the highest favour for its beauty and rich spicy odour. It has been cultivated in Europe from time immemorial, and is the source from whence have been derived all the beautiful varieties of carnations and picotees. Like all its congeners, it is quite destitute of any real medical value, though it is still used in physic on account of the agrecable colour and flavour which it imparts. The flowers are for this purpose made into a syrup, which, from its harmless nature, forms a very desirable modifier of the nauseous mixtures which we sometimes are obliged to take.

Formerly, this syrup was supposed to be able to raise the spirits, or, in the language of the time, "to warme and comforte the harte;" it was also recommended in various nervous and spasmodic affections, and in malignant fevers; but its medical use is now quite obsolete, except as a flavouring and colouring agent.

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LINEE.-The claims of the plants in this order to our notice are not very important, for the use that may be made of them in curing any of the ills that flesh is heir to," while at the same time some of the species are of immense importance to the world, from the extraordinary tenacity of their fibres, which renders them suitable for being manufactured into coarse cloths and thread, but especially into that valuable fabric (which takes its name from the plant) linen.

There are but two species of any medical interest, both of which are natives of England; and their only common quality is the presence of oil and mucilage in their seeds, which renders them consequently emollient.

BLUE FLAX (Linum usitatissimum L).-This is the plant, whose fibres, commonly known as flux, have been used from time immemorial in the manufacture of cloth and thread. The substance which we call tow, is the short fibres of the same plant; those which are too short for being woven into linen; and this latter material when scraped and thus torn

up constitutes lint-a very important agent to the

surgeon.

An infusion of the seeds, well known as linseed tea, is of great use in all cases where there is any irritation of the mucous membranes: as in violent diarrhoa, and in affections of the lungs, when it acts as a demulcent, and allays the irritation. The seeds, when bruised and moistened with boiling water, form a most valuable emollient poultice; and according to Dr. Lindley, the oil mixed with lime-water has been a favourite application for burns.

Much more do I feel disposed to say regarding the many useful purposes to which this pretty little plant is turned, but I must curb my inclination to be communicative upon that which does not materially affect the object of my present writing, and I therefore pass on to the notice of the other species.

WHITE FLAX (Linum catharticum L.).—Though now almost obsolete, this plant was formerly in considerable repute as a cure for rheumatism; and country people still gather it for this purpose. In obstinate cases of this kind, Dr. Withering found a dose of two drachms of the dried herb very useful; or an infusion of a handful of the green plant will have a similar effect. Its taste is bitter, and its action powerfully, though not dangerously, cathartic. It is, however, somewhat uncertain in its operation.

The plant may be commonly met with in pastures in England, and also in other parts of Europe; and in such profusion does it grow about Versailles, as to cause the fields (small as are its blossoms) to appear quite white with them.

OUR VILLAGE WALKS.

(No. 23.)

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THERE is one particular spot, which I almost daily, where I am sure to hear the joyous, thrilling notes of the lark. It is a large open piece of arable land, lying high and dry, and there is a freshness and buoyancy in the unconfined air which the lark seems to relish as much as I do myself; and I often pause to listen to his joyous song, and try to discern his little fluttering form suspended in the air; but I can seldom see him. He is soon lost in clouds and space, and his warbling notes alone mark his soaring flight. What energy, what vivacity, what enthusiasm there is in the lark's song! It seems to grow fuller and richer as he rises higher and higher, as if the clear, delicious air inspired him the more he tastes it in its lofty purity, and made him rejoice in ascending beyond the fogs and vapours of the earth. Does it not remind us, as we listen to his voice, of the gladness that swells the Christian's heart, as his hopes rise higher and higher, beyond "the things on the earth," to those things that are above-and brighten as they rise? Buoyant and sportive as is the soaring wind, melodious as is the lively lay, yet there is a sweeter, holier song for man to sing-a bolder, higher, grander flight for him. The believer is borne, amid the changes and chances" of the world, "on eagles' wings;" and the "new song" that is set to the music of Mount Zion, has no parallel on earth. It is a song begun, indeed, among the clouds of our tempest-tossed life, but that will never cease throughout a glorious eternity. Has not the merry lark a word for us, as the gushings of his song reach our listening ear? He tells us, that we too ought to make melody in our hearts for all the goodness of God; he pours forth his praise for lesser mercies-while the voice of man is mute. Does not the unceasing warble of this little bird condemn the disregard we show to our own high calling?

The perpetual cawing of my favourite rooks, unmusical and monotonous as it is, has now again begun, and will cease no more till their young can fly. I rejoice to hear their hoarse voices, and am sorry when they take their winter leave, although they continually visit us in the daytime even then. I love to hear them the first thing in the morning, and the last thing at night; to watch them battling with the wind, or careering round the trees, or fighting and disputing with each other. If I were observant, as many people are, I might gain some hints from their manners and customs; but I have no gift that way. My father, who noticed everything, when residing in the neighbourhood of the Yorkshire moors, soon learned to discern the changes of the weather by the habits of his rooks. However threatening might be the aspect of the day, if the rooks went off in a body to feed on the moors all was safe-no rain ever fell. If, on the contrary, the brightest weather failed to tempt them from the park, a change would surely take place-rain came in a very few hours. My father said he never knew these signs to fail; so much so, that he looked as regularly to the rooks as to the barometer when he rose in the morning; and if they ever differed in opinion the rooks were right.

The noise of a rookery associates itself remarkably in the mind, with times and places. Most other country sounds are heard so generally, that they do not connect themselves closely with particular ideas; but rooks are not heard every where, and they do frequently carry us away in thought to the distant and the past. There is, or used to be, a settlement of rooks in Bath, in the garden of a residence sheltered by a few tall trees; and I shall never forget the feelings of delight with which I used to pace beneath the high brick wall, listening to their loud noise, and trying to fancy myself at home, under our own beechtrees, till the rattle of a carriage broke the charm!

Since the snow has melted, the mosses seem particularly bright and beautiful, more so than I think I ever saw them. I observe among the woods beds of feathery moss, so green and lively, that it quite refreshes the eye accustomed so long to the barrenness of a wintry scene. I do not understand any of the varieties of moss, but there is one particular kind so delicate and spray-like, that it reminds me of fern in the shape of what may be called its leaves. The formation of moss consists in small cells, which drink up the rain and dew; this keeps it perpetually moist. The earth is never parched beneath a carpet of moss, and the roots of trees are kept cool and damp by its friendly aid. We often admire the silky green coating that inwraps the lower part of their rugged stems, but we do not, perhaps, remember how useful, as well as beautiful it is. Mosses are the first approach to vegetation on rocky shores, from which the sea has totally receded; and they appear in a short time upon the islands that have occasionally been thrown up from the bosom of the ocean-thus wonderfully displaying the latent fertility of the earth, although it has been covered with the deep sea ever since the command to "bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed after his kind, and the fruit-tree yielding fruit after his kind,” was given by God.

There is an unobtrusiveness in moss that causes us to neglect it, yet how much it embellishes the woods, the copse, the sequestered pathway; and how softly, yet brightly green it is when the early spring sunbeams glance cheerily among the trees, and dart into the cold, damp woods that have so long remained almost in darkness!

We pass carelessly by a mossy bank, or over mossy

ground, we feel it velvetty and pleasant to the feet, but we do not pause to examine it closely, to admire the beautiful cuplike form of one variety, or the leafy richness of another. There are so many species of this beautiful portion of vegetation, that they might afford unceasing interest and delight. That species, called the common club-moss, which is frequently found in England, clothes vast districts in Lapland, and is the food of the gentle, serviceable Rein-deer, that almost friend of man. In those dreary regions, covered with almost perpetual snow, this valuable moss lies safely beneath it, preserved alive when all other vegetation ceases, to be the support of the few animals that inhabit those bleak lands. When the snow is scratched away by the instinct of the reindeer, his food is green and nourishing, although frosts prevail so strongly that man's breath freezes on his lips. What a wonderful, what a gracious provision for the wants of the dumb creation! Whenever we meet with the interesting club-moss, then let us view it with peculiar regard,-let us think of the desolate lands it overspreads and benefits,-let us think of the animal creation, guided by the Creator's hand, seeking it below the frozen surface of deep snows; and let it cover us with shame to think that while they, the beasts that perish, "seek their meat from God," we, blessed with the gift of reason, too often seek it from ourselves! How few of us there are that wait upon Him to give us "our daily bread!"

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When the two are put together, b is let down by the handles e, through the hole in the plate a. Flange d fits into a sand groove f, which is filled with silver sand. This is to allow of expansion, without cracking the cast iron.

On the top surface of the outer edge of plate a, a half-inch fillet (g) is cast with the plate; for the purpose of holding sand round the edge of the plate. The plate a is not bedded in the brick-work, but simply rests upon it. In the 12-inch paving-tiles, with which the brick-work is covered, a circular hole is cut of an inch larger diameter than the plate; and this cavity, or groove, is filled with sand all round, as high as the top of the fillet, so that the edge of the plate is buried in sand, and the plate has liberty to expand or contract to any

extent.

If bottom-heat is not required, the annexed cut would be complete in itself, without the copper boiler; but, having a tank previously, I added the copper

boiler, as shewn in fig. 4. The same fire will do for one or both care being taken that both fuel-pipe

Fig. 4.

and boiler are directly over the furnace-bars. My boiler holds about 3 quarts, or rather less. It is a great mistake to suppose that a large boiler is required. It is a loss of fuel to heat more water than the diameter of the flow-pipe will allow to go into circulation at the same time. In mine, warmth is perceptible as soon as the fire is lighted. My greenhouse is 18 by 15 feet; and being built with its back adjoining a sitting-room, I am obliged to adopt the following arrangement, which others would vary according to circumstances.

Fig. 5.

Fig. 5 represents the whole complete, put together, and set in brickwork:m is the flow-pipe conveying the hot water from the boiler; n is the brass unionjoint connecting it with the tank in the greenhouse; o is the return-pipe, bringing the water back from the tank; is the flue, through the wall k, into the chimney 1; and i is a damper.

As soon as the fire is lighted, the heated air ascends from the plate to a low ceiling (p, in fig. 6), in a porch

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Fig. 6.

at the north end of the greenhouse, into which there is a door () from the porch. Over this glass door a head-light of one pane (s) swings upon pivots, and lets the warm air into the greenhouse. Under the threshold of this door is a cast iron grating, (t) communicating with an air drain under the floor of the house. This drain has a regular fall of several inches: thus a circulation of warm air is kept up on the Polmaise principle.

Very little fuel is consumed: less than a bushel of coke in 24 hours, at a cost of about 4d. It requires

very little attention; when the fuel-pipe is filled to the top with coke, and the lid put on, the contents of the pipe b will last from 12 to 24 hours without replenishing: according to the heat required, and the draught given by means of the damper and ventilator. The flue is a four-inch iron pipe, with a nicely-made damper fitted into it. There is a double door to the furnace and ash-pit. In the outer door is a circular brass ventilator or regulator. The short iron pipeflue must pass into a brick chimney-this is indispensable. By means of the damper and ventilator, the nicest possible regulation of draught may be maintained. The atmosphere of the house is never quiescent: an undulation of the vine-leaves is always perceptible. I have now tried it for two years; it has never failed to do all that I wish. The fire never goes out, night or day (if the coke is broken small enough), unless designedly put out, or through any gross mismanagement, when under the care of one who does not understand its principle.

The coke is broken into pieces of a size varying from that of a hazel-nut to a walnut; the residue is sifted, and also burned; the very smallest dust only being thrown away.

I do not keep a regular entry of my self-registering thermometer; but, during this severe winter, my lowest temperatures have been about the following:Greenhouse, night temperature, 40° or 45° to 50° or 55°. Among pines, over tank, night, 50° or 55° to 60°-never below 50°.

Temperature, on floor level, 40° or 45°, generally. The apparatus is perfectly clean, free from dust, and without the smallest escape of coke-gas. The whole can be taken down in five minutes, without the aid of any workman, cleaned, and replaced; for when once the brick-work is complete, no unsetting or resetting is required. The little copper boiler is made of the thickest metal that can be procured. By using copper, instead of iron, there is never any sediment in the pipes or tank. I have some shallow zine pans, which I place on plate a at pleasure, for evaporation. I have also means of preserving sufficient moisture by the tank in the house.

This is a simple and effectual plan for procuring the Polmaise circulation of warm air, and the tank circulation of warm water, by means of one and the same fire. Either of them can be shut off at pleasure when not required. It can never fail. I had a model made in wood, under my own direction, which I then sent to the foundry to be cast.

You will like to have a little guidance as to the first expense :

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The furnace-bars and ash-pit door I had by me before. I have not included the brick-work-the interior of which is lined with Ramsay's fire-bricks.

Of course, for any house of larger dimensions thau mine, an apparatus upon a proportionately larger scale would be required. If I were to make a second, and did not require a boiler, &c., for hot water, I should think of having the casting in a dome-shape instead of a flat plate, which would give a larger warming surface of iron: such, as I believe, is usually known as the cockle-shape; but this would be matter of experiment.

So accurately does this work, that if the damper is

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CULTURE OF CAMELLIAS. THESE beautiful hardy greenhouse plants are the greatest ornament of the conservatory during the months of April and May; with flowers as handsome and as various in colours as the rose, they have the advantage over that justly esteemed flower in possessing a splendid foliage, handsome and glossy at all times of the year. We have given a pretty considerable list of the best kinds, many of which will be new to the generality of our readers. The variegated ones are more numerous than the selfcoloured, but are selected as being distinct and good shaped flowers. We cannot let this list pass from our hands without giving what we conceive to be the essential points of good culture of these universally esteemed flowers.

HOUSE TO GROW THEM IN.-Like all large families of plants, the Camellia does best in a house to itself. The reason is, because at the season when they make their annual growth, and form their flowerbuds for the succeeding year, they require a higher temperature, and a greater amount of atmospheric moisture and shade than any other greenhouse plants, with, perhaps, the single exception of the citrus (orange) tribe. As these two families require a similar treatment in that respect, they may be grown together in the same house with great propriety and benefit.

COMPOST.-The compost we have found them to grow and flower best in, is light fibrous loam, of a brown colour; such as may be obtained from a pasture on the banks of a river, or even from the sides of hills or uplands, where the soil is clear of stones or clay. The top spit, four or five inches thick, is the best. Take the grassy turf along with it, and lay it up for twelve months previously to using, chopping and turning it over frequently. The other article is sandy peat, taken from a moor, where the common heath thrives vigorously. This requires breaking up in a similar manner to the loam, but not for so long a time. These two soils mixed together, in equal parts, and the rougher lumps picked out (not sifted), will grow the camellias satisfactorily. If the soils appear to be poor, an eighth part of leaf-mould, or very rotten dung, may be added; and also, if not of a sandy nature, add as much river sand as will make it so.

DRAINAGE. The camellia has a soft white fleshy root when in its young state, and if the pots are not well drained, these roots in autumn and winter will be apt to canker and perish. No plants suffer more from badly drained pots than these, therefore it is of the greatest importance to drain effectually. Broken garden pots make the best drainage; place a large piece over the hole at the bottom of the pot, propped up by another piece, to allow the superfluous water readily to escape; over that place some smaller ones, and over the last a covering of pieces no larger than garden peas, with the small dust sifted out. Upon this drainage put either a thin layer of moss or some of the rough pieces of fibrous loam or peat picked out at the turning times. These may be lesser or larger according to the size of the plants.

POTTING. The best season for potting is the month of August. We are aware there is a difference of opinion amongst cultivators as to the best time for this important operation, some preferring the spring, just after the plants have bloomed. We will just

reason a little upon this point. The camellia is an evergreen, and requires the greatest amount of support and food at the time it makes its shoots and forms its flower-buds. Now, if it is potted in spring, just before it begins to grow, the operation of potting disarranges the roots that may be alive, and disarranges also the soil; so that before these two agents (the mouths and the food) can act, the plant is growing upon, and exhausting, the small store of food reserved in itself; consequently, it cannot thrive so much as it would have done if the roots and soil had been in a state to assist the growth. On the other hand, if the potting had been performed as we say, in August, the roots would be growing, increasing, and gathering up a store of food that would cause the plant to start into growth in perfect health and vigour in the spring. All good gardeners remove hardy evergreens in the autumn of the year, and for the same reason, that they may put forth new roots directly, and be ready to sustain the growth of the following year. We might lengthen out these remarks much, but we think we have said enough to prove our case, that autumn is the best season for potting camellias, as well as for removing hollies, aucubas, and other evergreens.

WATERING.-The greatest quantity of water is required whilst the plants are growing. They can then hardly have too much if the drainage is all right. After they have formed their buds, and up to the growing time again, just keep the soil moist, and no more. Take care, however, that the inside of the ball is wet, as well as the top. Large pots will require occasional examination; stir the surface sufficiently deep to see that the interior is moist. If dry, thrust a pointed stick here and there into the soil, leaving the holes open; then give a good watering that will sink through and thoroughly moisten the whole. At the time of growing, throw abundance of water down upon the paths, borders, and against the walls, to create a moist atmosphere.

HEAT. These plants are very hardy; so much so, that in the south they will live through our ordinary winters in the open air; but seldom flower well, because our late spring frosts nip the bloom in the bud. In the greenhouse, if the frost is just kept out, the heat will be sufficient. Give as much air as possible on all favourable occasions. The time when a little heat and less air will be desirable, is just after the bloom is over till the buds are formed. This happens at a season (May and June) when the natural heat out of doors is so much increased that very little artificial heat will be necessary.

TURNING OUT.-As soon as the buds are fairly formed, the plants may be set out of doors in a place sheltered from the noonday sun and west winds. Place them upon a thick stratum of rough coal-ashes, to prevent worms getting into the pots. Syringe them here of an evening after a hot sunny day, and give a moderate supply of water. Here they may remain till the cool nights warn us of the approach of frost, when the pots may be cleaned, the surface stirred, and all made neat and tidy. Then put them into the house, and if all be well you will have a prospect of abundance of bloom for the next year. T. APPLEBY.

EXTRACTS FROM CORRESPONDENCE. GOOSEBERRY CATERPILIARS, TO DESTROY.-I send you a receipt for cleaning gooseberry bushes from caterpillars, which I have used with success for more than 40 years.

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